I realize I disappeared for over a month. I guess there was a good reason...
I didn't turn on my laptop for just about that much time. And when I don't turn on the computer, I rarely type. I even realized that I wasn't answering text messages like I normally do.
I was severely hypothyroid, in preparation for the Radioactive Iodine treatment on May 24th. I had to go off the medication for 5 weeks, which means without a thyroid, I was bottoming out. And honestly, I don't really even remember the drive to the treatment, or part of the days afterward.
I knew I had to be away from the children for a week, because they couldn't be exposed to the radiation that was coming out of my body. So, my parents took care of the children while I hid out in the cabin. Like I said, there are holes in my memory, because I was running on empty. What I do remember?
I remember showing up to the hospital to receive treatment, reading ten pages of forms and signing my life away, then being handed a tiny capsule to swallow. I thought to myself, "this is IT?" then I was pushed out the door to start my drive to the cabin.
Actually, my endocrinologist quoted Eddie Murphy from a movie, THEN pushed me out the door to get down the road. And he warned me not to throw up in the car or on the side of the road, because that would be a nuclear accident. Fantastic...
I slept for about 19-21 hours of the first three days. I knew I was overtired, and I was in the darkest room for sleeping. It was a good thing that I had slept so much, but I was also worried that I wasn't monitoring myself like I would like. I knew I was alone in this, so I at least had to be aware if something was wrong.
After a few days, I was going stir-crazy. A few friends had wondered how it would work out: an extrovert like me being stuck in the woods alone for a week. I could be around people on day 4, I just couldn't be around little kids for extended periods. So, I went for drives, stopped in little shops for short periods, and twiddled my thumbs until I could go home again.
I did have a few adventures along the way. I scoured my favorite used bookstore (McKay), and found some books to read for the remainder of my stay. I picked up a natural living newspaper, found an ad for a pizza place, and decided to go visit.
The experience? I came into Lupi's, marveled at the tree sculptures and psychedelic twinkling lights on the ceiling, and decided to try something different. It was definitely something out of the norm for me, and I decided to embrace the experience. My taste was also altered because of the medication, and so I wondered what would even taste normal.
The whole experience was anything but normal. It was a good experience, don't get me wrong. It was some of the best pizza I'd ever had. But listening to a man from suspected Polynesian descent belt out the lyrics to an old Elton John love duet under a disco ball, while twirling pizza dough.... This wasn't my typical pizza experience. I wondered if the medication was changing my perception, and then I realized I always notice stuff like this. I sent a message to my friend Robin, telling her briefly of the experience. Her response: "I'd love to see the world through your eyes. Even these brief glimpses are a treasure." I love that my life amuses her...
I hate malls. I can't stand how everyone is darting around in different directions, and it seems that people believe their agenda is the most important. Heaven forbid I get in the way of a lady trying to get to a Hollister sale. Nevertheless, I missed seeing people and I needed to go look at something. So the final two days, I spent my hours wandering around the mall looking at things. Actually, the mall is a pretty decent place in May- there's no real rush for anything.
I finally got to return home, and was thrilled to see the kids. I was also being watched because my calcium levels were still dipping. At this point, the doctor started to wonder what was going on. I was under a lot of stress, which doesn't help calcium levels at all. So, I had to start going to get blood work again, and we started to wonder what was going on with my body. My parathyroid glands were looking great, so this left some confusion about my body.
I looked pretty good, considering I was going through cancer treatment. Still, I felt miserable. I had sores down the inside of my nose and throat, my tongue was swollen, and my neck was tender. I couldn't taste food, and some food even tasted poisonous. I was incredibly tired because I had just started back on thyroid hormone medications, and it would take a while to get back to normal.
So, I did what any normal human being would do... I started teaching summer school. Through all of this, I have to remember I am a single parent and the one that is ultimately responsible for the care of the kids. So, I take any opportunity to build up additional income, knowing they are getting their tonsils out in July, and I will be the parent that has to pay for the surgery up front (and wonder if I will receive half back...). Summer school only has one week left, so I guess we could say I survived. I could make it through the days better if I wasn't so TIRED. I wake up exhausted, and spend twenty minutes mentally preparing myself to get out of bed. I know that in a few more weeks, my thyroid hormone will be back to normal and I will feel like living again. I can't even imagine how nice it will be to feel normal.
I'll make an effort to catch up more at a later point (but soon, I promise!). I guess even typing and trying to remember things can wear me out. I have a lot of thoughts I wrote down in journals or on post-its during the past few months. Once I get a chance to convert them to normal human language, I'll make sure I update this post. :-)
Thursday, June 20, 2013
Friday, May 10, 2013
Mother's Day
I remember the projects we would make in school for Mother's Day- the handprints that we would morph into flowers, hearts, or some jungle animal. We would make cards where we would guess our mother's age, tell her how much we loved her, and list our favorite things about her. We'd make a craft or little token to attach to the card, and mothers' faces would beam as they opened our handmade gifts.
Over the years, I came to realize what it really took to be a mother. I knew that they would be the parent to get up in the night when I was sick, and my mother always made my lunches, listened to my worries, and made sure my hair looked nice for picture day (and every day).
But I didn't understand the REAL scope of being a mother until I actually became one. I remember waddling into church on the Mother's Day before I had Alex (only a few days before I went in the hospital). I remember being MISERABLE, and knowing this all needed to end soon. I remember my exhusband handing me a gift, but saying something along the lines of "even though you aren't a mother yet..."
I was confused: what the heck was I doing? I guess I was just hanging out in physical agony, waiting to finally be a mom. I surely wasn't up fifteen times a night either in the bathroom or groaning from heartburn... I wasn't waddling down halls physically LIFTING my belly because the pressure was separating my pelvic ligaments. I wasn't seeing spots and having headaches because I was "pretending to be a mom." That pregnancy earned my Mom status from the very beginning... From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I worried constantly about the well-being of my child. And this hasn't ended, even as he (almost six years-old) sits next to me while I type.
Being a mother is a neat thing: we have a chance to care for, support, and encourage our children in all facets of their lives. Don't get me wrong- I'd like to go to the bathroom in peace or even read a book every now and then. But I wouldn't trade the fact that my children WANT me involved in their life. I like that I am able to be there for all major moments of their lives.
What makes it hard is that I am a single parent. It's tough when I am the sole parent, and I am currently running low on energy. I am remembering back to about 1.5 years ago, when I was balancing working and raising two kids. I remember how Carly was 2.5 years old, and was having a hard time sleeping through the night (ears were causing night SCREAMING). I remember collapsing into my office chair at school in between classes, and wondered if I could fall asleep instantly. I was running on empty, and I wondered how single mothers did it when they didn't even have a support system. I was grateful that I had my parents around to help me raise the kids, and I felt really bad for those women that are really going it alone.
Now that the kids are 4 and almost-six, I realize they require a lot less energy. This is good, because I now have a whole lot less energy to give. I am three weeks into no thyroid hormones, and still have two weeks to go. I feel like a snail, and snails don't raise human babies! There's a reason!!! I try to put on a brave face and suck it up, but inside I am DYING. For example, I want to review my week for a moment (before I start my guilt-trip, which I am entitled to):
On Monday, I worked all day. Then, I took an end-of-course test to a homebound student, and sat while she took the test (which was untimed). Afterward, I headed home and got to the house as everyone was eating dinner. Thankfully, I had a little time to eat, check homework and get kids ready for bed.
On Tuesday, I worked all day as well (including hosting some meetings- prep work for that!). At the end of the work day, I flew out of school and headed to pick up kids, change clothes, get pizzas, and head BACK to school to host an honor society end-of-the-year picnic. I stayed at the school pretty late, then got the kids home in time to give them baths and head to bed. I crashed without doing any more work at home.
On Wednesday, I worked all day, then headed BACK out to homebound to give another EOC test. I felt like I was there FOREVER (because it was untimed!). I got home in time to eat with the kids, then did spend a little bit of time with them. I was grateful to see them, but I was also EXHAUSTED at this point. I wondered how on earth I was supposed to make it through the rest of the week...
On Thursday, I headed to work at 6:55am, and came back home at 9:25pm. After working all day, I gave the FINAL EOC test, then did drive home quickly to recurl my hair, move laundry, lay out pajamas, and kiss the kids (since I wouldn't see them that night!). I got back in time for the awards banquet, stayed until after 9pm, then headed home to fall asleep as quickly as I could to wake up at 5am and repeat...
Except last night, I spent the entire night sick. Which made Friday morning MISERABLE... And I did make it through today, but BARELY.
I am not listing my schedule to show off anything, or as a guilt-trip on anyone else other than myself. I am honestly surprised I am capable of such a schedule. I am also wondering what the heck I am thinking?!?
Someone out there is probably wondering "why are you teaching homebound while sick?" Well, the short answer is "when I have to pay bills, the companies don't care that I am sick, and they really don't care that I am STILL not receiving my full child support..." So, instead of working abbreviated days (which would be smart with my physical state), I am working OVERTIME. I know hospital bills will add up, and continue to add up as both children have surgery in July. So, I take the work as it's offered.
The guilt trip? It's on me. I felt absolutely TERRIBLE I didn't see my kids much this week. I know this is not a normal week, but I also felt like I missed a lot of important things. It's hard enough when there's only one parent- it's pretty bad when the one parent is trying to see them at least once a day. On Thursday, I was asking my boss how long he thought the awards dinner would last. He told me, and I said "that's fine- I just wanted to know if I should tell my mom I won't be able to tuck the kids in." He made a sad face at that response, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. It really sucks to do this alone sometimes...
It feels a bit different in light of the cancer, and all that's come along with it. Whereas I would normally feel exhausted, and try to keep positive about the fact that one day they will grow up and leave and I will miss them... Now, I feel a bit guilty, because I know they will have normal days, and no matter how I feel I try so hard to appreciate them, to leave them with good experiences, and to make everything ok, because heaven forbid something happens- I wouldn't want them remembering when I lost my temper!! Balancing all of this has really just left me drained...
The truth is, I love my children more than anything. They are the whole reason I am keeping on. Honestly, after all that's happened, I would have thrown in the towel long ago. They keep me going, because if nothing else- I need to make money to take care of them! But it's not just that- I know I want to show them that there are low points in life, and that we just need to push on until we get out of those spots. And right now, I am trying my best to show them a good example. If I didn't have to be an example, I'd happily pull the covers over my head and try again tomorrow.
I remember the Mother's Day after Carly was born. I had spent five days in the hospital following Carly's birth. After spending a night at home, we packed up the goods, and I went to stay with my parents (along with Alex) for a few days. I stayed there for a little bit, and moved back to the apartment in time to spend Mother's Day with my ex's family. Carly's pregnancy brought serious complications as well, and I was still trying to recover (along with parenting a two year-old, and doing a lot of this by myself). I was grateful for my mother, who was trying to continue working while getting up with the baby through the night while I stayed with her. And my sister-in-law Alli would come over and help with the little ones so I could try to nap.
So, when Mother's Day rolled around, I remember riding with Chris to go visit his family. He stopped to get gifts for the mothers in the family. He pulled out two giant vases of roses for his mother and grandmother. He handed me a small vase of tulips- because I didn't like roses... I was beginning to see a trend about his opinion of what I was actually doing here...
And maybe that's where my confusion about Mother's Day comes about. I am not playing the blame game, but I believe anyone would start to wonder when things like this kept coming up. I know it's not about recognition from a spouse or other adults, but that is KINDA the deal. Especially when this woman is the REASON for the children.
And this is why I am so thankful my children are at an age where they tell me every day that they love me. I know they do love me, but there is something about hearing those affirming words- and saying them as well. They are good for the soul, and make every day feel like Mother's Day. Even when I am out of energy. Even when I feel guilty about balancing work, school, daily obligations, and family. Even when I wonder what the future holds. Even when I wonder how much fight I have left to give- they are there to whisper "I love you's" in the night.
And that will forever be the greatest gift I could ever receive- Mother's Day, and every day.
Over the years, I came to realize what it really took to be a mother. I knew that they would be the parent to get up in the night when I was sick, and my mother always made my lunches, listened to my worries, and made sure my hair looked nice for picture day (and every day).
But I didn't understand the REAL scope of being a mother until I actually became one. I remember waddling into church on the Mother's Day before I had Alex (only a few days before I went in the hospital). I remember being MISERABLE, and knowing this all needed to end soon. I remember my exhusband handing me a gift, but saying something along the lines of "even though you aren't a mother yet..."
I was confused: what the heck was I doing? I guess I was just hanging out in physical agony, waiting to finally be a mom. I surely wasn't up fifteen times a night either in the bathroom or groaning from heartburn... I wasn't waddling down halls physically LIFTING my belly because the pressure was separating my pelvic ligaments. I wasn't seeing spots and having headaches because I was "pretending to be a mom." That pregnancy earned my Mom status from the very beginning... From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I worried constantly about the well-being of my child. And this hasn't ended, even as he (almost six years-old) sits next to me while I type.
Being a mother is a neat thing: we have a chance to care for, support, and encourage our children in all facets of their lives. Don't get me wrong- I'd like to go to the bathroom in peace or even read a book every now and then. But I wouldn't trade the fact that my children WANT me involved in their life. I like that I am able to be there for all major moments of their lives.
What makes it hard is that I am a single parent. It's tough when I am the sole parent, and I am currently running low on energy. I am remembering back to about 1.5 years ago, when I was balancing working and raising two kids. I remember how Carly was 2.5 years old, and was having a hard time sleeping through the night (ears were causing night SCREAMING). I remember collapsing into my office chair at school in between classes, and wondered if I could fall asleep instantly. I was running on empty, and I wondered how single mothers did it when they didn't even have a support system. I was grateful that I had my parents around to help me raise the kids, and I felt really bad for those women that are really going it alone.
Now that the kids are 4 and almost-six, I realize they require a lot less energy. This is good, because I now have a whole lot less energy to give. I am three weeks into no thyroid hormones, and still have two weeks to go. I feel like a snail, and snails don't raise human babies! There's a reason!!! I try to put on a brave face and suck it up, but inside I am DYING. For example, I want to review my week for a moment (before I start my guilt-trip, which I am entitled to):
On Monday, I worked all day. Then, I took an end-of-course test to a homebound student, and sat while she took the test (which was untimed). Afterward, I headed home and got to the house as everyone was eating dinner. Thankfully, I had a little time to eat, check homework and get kids ready for bed.
On Tuesday, I worked all day as well (including hosting some meetings- prep work for that!). At the end of the work day, I flew out of school and headed to pick up kids, change clothes, get pizzas, and head BACK to school to host an honor society end-of-the-year picnic. I stayed at the school pretty late, then got the kids home in time to give them baths and head to bed. I crashed without doing any more work at home.
On Wednesday, I worked all day, then headed BACK out to homebound to give another EOC test. I felt like I was there FOREVER (because it was untimed!). I got home in time to eat with the kids, then did spend a little bit of time with them. I was grateful to see them, but I was also EXHAUSTED at this point. I wondered how on earth I was supposed to make it through the rest of the week...
On Thursday, I headed to work at 6:55am, and came back home at 9:25pm. After working all day, I gave the FINAL EOC test, then did drive home quickly to recurl my hair, move laundry, lay out pajamas, and kiss the kids (since I wouldn't see them that night!). I got back in time for the awards banquet, stayed until after 9pm, then headed home to fall asleep as quickly as I could to wake up at 5am and repeat...
Except last night, I spent the entire night sick. Which made Friday morning MISERABLE... And I did make it through today, but BARELY.
I am not listing my schedule to show off anything, or as a guilt-trip on anyone else other than myself. I am honestly surprised I am capable of such a schedule. I am also wondering what the heck I am thinking?!?
Someone out there is probably wondering "why are you teaching homebound while sick?" Well, the short answer is "when I have to pay bills, the companies don't care that I am sick, and they really don't care that I am STILL not receiving my full child support..." So, instead of working abbreviated days (which would be smart with my physical state), I am working OVERTIME. I know hospital bills will add up, and continue to add up as both children have surgery in July. So, I take the work as it's offered.
The guilt trip? It's on me. I felt absolutely TERRIBLE I didn't see my kids much this week. I know this is not a normal week, but I also felt like I missed a lot of important things. It's hard enough when there's only one parent- it's pretty bad when the one parent is trying to see them at least once a day. On Thursday, I was asking my boss how long he thought the awards dinner would last. He told me, and I said "that's fine- I just wanted to know if I should tell my mom I won't be able to tuck the kids in." He made a sad face at that response, and I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. It really sucks to do this alone sometimes...
It feels a bit different in light of the cancer, and all that's come along with it. Whereas I would normally feel exhausted, and try to keep positive about the fact that one day they will grow up and leave and I will miss them... Now, I feel a bit guilty, because I know they will have normal days, and no matter how I feel I try so hard to appreciate them, to leave them with good experiences, and to make everything ok, because heaven forbid something happens- I wouldn't want them remembering when I lost my temper!! Balancing all of this has really just left me drained...
The truth is, I love my children more than anything. They are the whole reason I am keeping on. Honestly, after all that's happened, I would have thrown in the towel long ago. They keep me going, because if nothing else- I need to make money to take care of them! But it's not just that- I know I want to show them that there are low points in life, and that we just need to push on until we get out of those spots. And right now, I am trying my best to show them a good example. If I didn't have to be an example, I'd happily pull the covers over my head and try again tomorrow.
I remember the Mother's Day after Carly was born. I had spent five days in the hospital following Carly's birth. After spending a night at home, we packed up the goods, and I went to stay with my parents (along with Alex) for a few days. I stayed there for a little bit, and moved back to the apartment in time to spend Mother's Day with my ex's family. Carly's pregnancy brought serious complications as well, and I was still trying to recover (along with parenting a two year-old, and doing a lot of this by myself). I was grateful for my mother, who was trying to continue working while getting up with the baby through the night while I stayed with her. And my sister-in-law Alli would come over and help with the little ones so I could try to nap.
So, when Mother's Day rolled around, I remember riding with Chris to go visit his family. He stopped to get gifts for the mothers in the family. He pulled out two giant vases of roses for his mother and grandmother. He handed me a small vase of tulips- because I didn't like roses... I was beginning to see a trend about his opinion of what I was actually doing here...
And maybe that's where my confusion about Mother's Day comes about. I am not playing the blame game, but I believe anyone would start to wonder when things like this kept coming up. I know it's not about recognition from a spouse or other adults, but that is KINDA the deal. Especially when this woman is the REASON for the children.
And this is why I am so thankful my children are at an age where they tell me every day that they love me. I know they do love me, but there is something about hearing those affirming words- and saying them as well. They are good for the soul, and make every day feel like Mother's Day. Even when I am out of energy. Even when I feel guilty about balancing work, school, daily obligations, and family. Even when I wonder what the future holds. Even when I wonder how much fight I have left to give- they are there to whisper "I love you's" in the night.
And that will forever be the greatest gift I could ever receive- Mother's Day, and every day.
Wednesday, May 8, 2013
Graduation
I sat here tonight and stared at the computer screen. I told myself I would be done with this project by last night, so I could give the seniors their gifts at the picnic. Yesterday came and went, and I tried to give myself an excuse ("I'm exhausted" has been the latest one, because it's mostly true!).
The reality is that I didn't do anything, because I didn't know what to write. Or rather, I didn't know if I should be truthful to them.
My idea was to give them a journal to record the next year of their life, and I would write them a letter in the front. But how do you write a touching and sentimental letter without sounding like a total sap, without making them cry, and without throwing in the "I've seen what's really important, and trust me- a lot of what you think is important isn't!!"
I want them to get out there and make their own lives, and I want them to take the chances and make the mistakes. That's where memories come from! If life goes perfectly as planned, there aren't a lot of great stories to share with others. Still, I was a bit guarded about what I needed to write. I took a moment to think about my high school graduation (which took forever, because no one warned ME to write things down!).
I told my mother after remembering, that I had a frontal lobe that developed way before everyone else. Her response: "you and your frontal lobe..." I love my mother, and the fact that she laughs at my response. The reality is I couldn't remember much about graduation, because I guess I knew there would be more important moments in my life. I remember that I wore my ruby slippers to the ceremony (when the rule was to wear black dress shoes). I remember that the picture of me shaking the principal and superintendent's hands while receiving my diploma feature their disdainful looks while looking down at my shoes. :-) I remember realizing that college was a reality, because there was no more high school left for me.
So I guess I felt doom. Expectations were out there, and I wondered if I could hack it.
No one told me to LIVE THEN. They told me to get out there, set goals, reach them, and have a great life. They didn't warn me that life was happening while I was trying to REACH the goals! No one warned me that whether I went to college for one month or ten years, that life was still going to happen; and that many of the things that happened to me were chance. And no one told me how bad regret would feel--how when I really took a good look back at that time of my life, I regretted not taking more chances. I was too terrified of failure- that the balls I was juggling would come tumbling down if I didn't keep up the pace.
Well, guess what? They came tumbling down. And I turned out just fine. And then I realized that, if anything, I wanted to warn the people that came after me. To let them know that it's ok to have big dreams, that they can achieve them, but that they need to include fun and experience along the way.
And without sounding like some downer or an overly spiritual person (in light of my current situation), I wanted to let them know that they shouldn't plan to live to be 100. Because they might stare in the mirror at age 30, and wonder how (and if) the next year will turn out. And then they will REALLY regret all of these chances they didn't take. And the retirement account they tried to create, or the savings for "when I live my life" won't really matter. And THEN, they'll wish someone told them.
So, my gift to these students? Yes, it's a journal and a letter. But really, it's a challenge. A challenge to get out there in the world and LIVE in it. To take risks, to make memories, and to record them. I don't want them to fear the world around them, and I want them to get out and explore every piece of it they can. And what happens if they fail? At least there's a story to tell. Heck, some of my best stories were from my failures. And I wanted them to know they don't need to be afraid to love. These really are my two big things I want to leave behind in this world, and a good start is in 30 journals to new adults.
Graduation is a cool thing in the metamorphosis of life; it symbolizes both an ending, and a new beginning. I guess everything is cyclical, but there are few great moments that are publicly celebrated as both. For us introspective folks, we can always see this reality. For new graduates, I imagine this duality is terrifying. I know great change is only scary when people focus on failure. When we see all the opportunity, and aren't afraid to fail, that is when we LIVE.
I also brought up my list I created, and how I have really lived more in the past two-three years than I did my whole life before then. I don't want them to feel the same way- I want their lives to start now. I can't control the future, but I can inspire it.
Last night we had the picnic of the National Honor Society, and all of the attendants were seniors. One member asked me, "is your treatment after graduation?" Earlier yesterday, I had the doctor call to try to schedule my treatment to start on graduation day. I know it sounded trivial to him, but I told him I couldn't miss graduation for treatment. I wanted to say goodbye before I moved on. And I have a feeling this student was feeling the same way.
I know that I have every possibility of making it through this treatment with little after-effect, and going on to live a relatively normal life. I also know there's a possibility of recurrence, or that my body will never be the same after treatment (that's the risk I had to weigh). And I know it was these thoughts that made it hard to write the letter. I tried not to capture the urgency of my final words, or something crazy like that. I wanted a message of hope, and something to inspire them.
Not something to remember me by.... I'll leave my manifesto for that. ;-)
The reality is that I didn't do anything, because I didn't know what to write. Or rather, I didn't know if I should be truthful to them.
My idea was to give them a journal to record the next year of their life, and I would write them a letter in the front. But how do you write a touching and sentimental letter without sounding like a total sap, without making them cry, and without throwing in the "I've seen what's really important, and trust me- a lot of what you think is important isn't!!"
I want them to get out there and make their own lives, and I want them to take the chances and make the mistakes. That's where memories come from! If life goes perfectly as planned, there aren't a lot of great stories to share with others. Still, I was a bit guarded about what I needed to write. I took a moment to think about my high school graduation (which took forever, because no one warned ME to write things down!).
I told my mother after remembering, that I had a frontal lobe that developed way before everyone else. Her response: "you and your frontal lobe..." I love my mother, and the fact that she laughs at my response. The reality is I couldn't remember much about graduation, because I guess I knew there would be more important moments in my life. I remember that I wore my ruby slippers to the ceremony (when the rule was to wear black dress shoes). I remember that the picture of me shaking the principal and superintendent's hands while receiving my diploma feature their disdainful looks while looking down at my shoes. :-) I remember realizing that college was a reality, because there was no more high school left for me.
So I guess I felt doom. Expectations were out there, and I wondered if I could hack it.
No one told me to LIVE THEN. They told me to get out there, set goals, reach them, and have a great life. They didn't warn me that life was happening while I was trying to REACH the goals! No one warned me that whether I went to college for one month or ten years, that life was still going to happen; and that many of the things that happened to me were chance. And no one told me how bad regret would feel--how when I really took a good look back at that time of my life, I regretted not taking more chances. I was too terrified of failure- that the balls I was juggling would come tumbling down if I didn't keep up the pace.
Well, guess what? They came tumbling down. And I turned out just fine. And then I realized that, if anything, I wanted to warn the people that came after me. To let them know that it's ok to have big dreams, that they can achieve them, but that they need to include fun and experience along the way.
And without sounding like some downer or an overly spiritual person (in light of my current situation), I wanted to let them know that they shouldn't plan to live to be 100. Because they might stare in the mirror at age 30, and wonder how (and if) the next year will turn out. And then they will REALLY regret all of these chances they didn't take. And the retirement account they tried to create, or the savings for "when I live my life" won't really matter. And THEN, they'll wish someone told them.
So, my gift to these students? Yes, it's a journal and a letter. But really, it's a challenge. A challenge to get out there in the world and LIVE in it. To take risks, to make memories, and to record them. I don't want them to fear the world around them, and I want them to get out and explore every piece of it they can. And what happens if they fail? At least there's a story to tell. Heck, some of my best stories were from my failures. And I wanted them to know they don't need to be afraid to love. These really are my two big things I want to leave behind in this world, and a good start is in 30 journals to new adults.
Graduation is a cool thing in the metamorphosis of life; it symbolizes both an ending, and a new beginning. I guess everything is cyclical, but there are few great moments that are publicly celebrated as both. For us introspective folks, we can always see this reality. For new graduates, I imagine this duality is terrifying. I know great change is only scary when people focus on failure. When we see all the opportunity, and aren't afraid to fail, that is when we LIVE.
I also brought up my list I created, and how I have really lived more in the past two-three years than I did my whole life before then. I don't want them to feel the same way- I want their lives to start now. I can't control the future, but I can inspire it.
Last night we had the picnic of the National Honor Society, and all of the attendants were seniors. One member asked me, "is your treatment after graduation?" Earlier yesterday, I had the doctor call to try to schedule my treatment to start on graduation day. I know it sounded trivial to him, but I told him I couldn't miss graduation for treatment. I wanted to say goodbye before I moved on. And I have a feeling this student was feeling the same way.
I know that I have every possibility of making it through this treatment with little after-effect, and going on to live a relatively normal life. I also know there's a possibility of recurrence, or that my body will never be the same after treatment (that's the risk I had to weigh). And I know it was these thoughts that made it hard to write the letter. I tried not to capture the urgency of my final words, or something crazy like that. I wanted a message of hope, and something to inspire them.
Not something to remember me by.... I'll leave my manifesto for that. ;-)
Monday, April 29, 2013
Yes, I'm Quoting Sartre and Bon Jovi Together...
In Jean-Paul Sartre's work, Existentialism is a Humanism, I found the words:
"...man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterwards."
Take a good minute or two and let that sink in.
And my friend, John Bon Jovi mentioned something of similar lines...
"you live for the fight when that's all that you've got."
Yes, I just compared Sartre in a roundabout way to Bon Jovi. I feel like if I explain, I will weaken my association. But, to keep from being called crazy, here goes...
I was thinking yesterday about how I existed all of these years, but only really LIVED for the past two. I know I can dig up all sorts of quotes on finding myself and taking risks, but that's not really the point. I have been around for thirty years, there's no doubt. It's these constant encounters with myself--the grit and glitter that I am made of-- this is when I finally figure out what defines me.
I am not saying I felt this inspirational all weekend. In fact, I had a HARD time. The exhaustion is setting in, and I have moments where I want to sob. I am so tired of being so tired, and extremely exhausted from keeping all the plates spinning in the air.
"This is the good type of cancer to have."
"There's a great chance of no recurrence."
"If you can be sick, this is what you would want."
Excuse me, but who the hell says this stuff?!?
I know people are trying to be comforting in their own strange way, but I don't tell a person in a wheelchair "at least you don't have your legs chopped off!" And I don't tell people with disfiguring scars from catastrophic events, "at least you are still alive."
Because I know that these words are ridiculous, and don't validate the pain they feel. It also doesn't validate the struggle they are enduring, and maybe this is me entering the "angry" phase of grief.
And this is where Bon Jovi comforted me, this morning while getting ready for work. They were on the rotation for Shower Music, and I took a good look in the mirror when I heard the words "you live for the fight when that's all that you've got."
And that's exactly how I am feeling right now. I am in this because I have nothing left. And as my friend pointed out very bluntly today... "it's better than the alternative..."
And I wanted to hug her, and thank her for not sugar-coating it. :-)
I have thought a lot about my purpose in life, about why I was sent here and what I am supposed to do before I leave. I am not saying I am getting all my affairs in order, but I do want to make my moments with people count. Heck, none of us knows when our time is over. I just got a bigger jolt of this reality.
Right now, I feel like these strange and terrible events in my life have been my "surging up in the world." Each event, both during and after the encounter, defines me. I guess I'd like to think that my grief and struggle are forming me into a tough cookie. But not too tough--when you see the world, and all of it's beauty, and wonder how many more sunrises you will see in your life, I dare you not to shed a tear.
I was talking to a student the other day about the speech she will be giving at the Awards Night, as well as at graduation. I told her about a song that came out around graduation time when I graduated high school. It was entitled, "Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen." If you haven't heard it, it was written based on a speech to a graduating class, and it gave all the wisdom one older person wanted to share with the youth. I have attached a clip below:
http://youtu.be/sTJ7AzBIJoI
I have always known that I wanted to teach two things to my students--first, to encourage them to take risks and go out and find things they are passionate about. The second thing is to not be afraid to love people around you, and tell them how you feel. People are so ready to tell people negative things, and to crush dreams of those around them. There aren't many people out there that are itching to take risks, make mistakes, and love the people around them without fear of being hurt.
After watching the video, and reminiscing of my youth, I decided I wanted to write something to my seniors (and juniors really, because they need to hear this). These students have been with me for almost two years, and I hope they've learned SOMETHING through their time with me. Graduating high school is quite a big deal--it's the start of opportunities, risks, and LIFE. I kind of feel like I am sitting on the other side, thirteen years later, looking back and seeing what really mattered.
So, my project for the next week is to write my words of wisdom. Will they listen to it all? I hope that it strikes a nerve with them, or at least that it's something they tuck away for later (to see if I was right!). Regardless, now is the time to tell them how fantastic they are, how much possibility lies before them, and that most of the mistakes they make really won't matter in the end.
It seemed like a daunting task, but then I thought to myself:
"If I can bring Bon Jovi and Sartre together, I think I can handle this..."
:-)
"...man first of all exists, encounters himself, surges up in the world – and defines himself afterwards."
Take a good minute or two and let that sink in.
And my friend, John Bon Jovi mentioned something of similar lines...
"you live for the fight when that's all that you've got."
Yes, I just compared Sartre in a roundabout way to Bon Jovi. I feel like if I explain, I will weaken my association. But, to keep from being called crazy, here goes...
I was thinking yesterday about how I existed all of these years, but only really LIVED for the past two. I know I can dig up all sorts of quotes on finding myself and taking risks, but that's not really the point. I have been around for thirty years, there's no doubt. It's these constant encounters with myself--the grit and glitter that I am made of-- this is when I finally figure out what defines me.
I am not saying I felt this inspirational all weekend. In fact, I had a HARD time. The exhaustion is setting in, and I have moments where I want to sob. I am so tired of being so tired, and extremely exhausted from keeping all the plates spinning in the air.
"This is the good type of cancer to have."
"There's a great chance of no recurrence."
"If you can be sick, this is what you would want."
Excuse me, but who the hell says this stuff?!?
I know people are trying to be comforting in their own strange way, but I don't tell a person in a wheelchair "at least you don't have your legs chopped off!" And I don't tell people with disfiguring scars from catastrophic events, "at least you are still alive."
Because I know that these words are ridiculous, and don't validate the pain they feel. It also doesn't validate the struggle they are enduring, and maybe this is me entering the "angry" phase of grief.
And this is where Bon Jovi comforted me, this morning while getting ready for work. They were on the rotation for Shower Music, and I took a good look in the mirror when I heard the words "you live for the fight when that's all that you've got."
And that's exactly how I am feeling right now. I am in this because I have nothing left. And as my friend pointed out very bluntly today... "it's better than the alternative..."
And I wanted to hug her, and thank her for not sugar-coating it. :-)
I have thought a lot about my purpose in life, about why I was sent here and what I am supposed to do before I leave. I am not saying I am getting all my affairs in order, but I do want to make my moments with people count. Heck, none of us knows when our time is over. I just got a bigger jolt of this reality.
Right now, I feel like these strange and terrible events in my life have been my "surging up in the world." Each event, both during and after the encounter, defines me. I guess I'd like to think that my grief and struggle are forming me into a tough cookie. But not too tough--when you see the world, and all of it's beauty, and wonder how many more sunrises you will see in your life, I dare you not to shed a tear.
I was talking to a student the other day about the speech she will be giving at the Awards Night, as well as at graduation. I told her about a song that came out around graduation time when I graduated high school. It was entitled, "Everybody's Free to Wear Sunscreen." If you haven't heard it, it was written based on a speech to a graduating class, and it gave all the wisdom one older person wanted to share with the youth. I have attached a clip below:
http://youtu.be/sTJ7AzBIJoI
I have always known that I wanted to teach two things to my students--first, to encourage them to take risks and go out and find things they are passionate about. The second thing is to not be afraid to love people around you, and tell them how you feel. People are so ready to tell people negative things, and to crush dreams of those around them. There aren't many people out there that are itching to take risks, make mistakes, and love the people around them without fear of being hurt.
After watching the video, and reminiscing of my youth, I decided I wanted to write something to my seniors (and juniors really, because they need to hear this). These students have been with me for almost two years, and I hope they've learned SOMETHING through their time with me. Graduating high school is quite a big deal--it's the start of opportunities, risks, and LIFE. I kind of feel like I am sitting on the other side, thirteen years later, looking back and seeing what really mattered.
So, my project for the next week is to write my words of wisdom. Will they listen to it all? I hope that it strikes a nerve with them, or at least that it's something they tuck away for later (to see if I was right!). Regardless, now is the time to tell them how fantastic they are, how much possibility lies before them, and that most of the mistakes they make really won't matter in the end.
It seemed like a daunting task, but then I thought to myself:
"If I can bring Bon Jovi and Sartre together, I think I can handle this..."
:-)
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Almost Three Weeks
I guess I wrote the title out of exasperation...
It's been almost three weeks since my surgery, and since my life has been turned upside-down. I was told it would be 7-14 days before I felt like returning to work, but that was before they uncovered the cancer diagnosis, and started me on all this other plan.
From the surgery, I can say that my scar has healed VERY nicely! This picture was taken this past Sunday, which was 17 days post-surgery.
Calcium Update: It seems that my body just doesn't want to get normal with the calcium! I have had the hardest time regulating it. We've had it go up, then shoot back down twice. That was even while I was INCREASING the amount of calcium supplements. I hope I have some relief soon- the twitching and muscle cramps are wearing me out.
The thyroid hormones were stopped yesterday, and I am really hoping that the yucky feeling I was having today wasn't my hormones already giving me trouble. I was supposed to get at least a few days of calm before the storm. I try to relax and realize that everyone is different, but the general consensus is that this will be a ROUGH period. I will be extremely tired, I will have muscle and body aches, I will be foggy and forgetful, and I will probably be moody. I hate it, because I know that I don't deserve to be tired and miserable, and the people around me don't deserve to hear me gripe. In a perfect world, I would be able to disappear for part of the time to stay out of people's hair. In the next few weeks, if you encounter me, consider giving me a hug or doing something nice like that. Chances are, I'll need it.
Work: I love my job, and I usually like the end of the year. This is the chance to do some fun things with the kids, and work on things for next year. I feel bad that the students won't get me at my best. I am grateful that I will be there to see everything at the end of the year, but I also feel bad that their last days of seeing me will be when I feel like death. I will try my best to keep a perky demeanor with them. We will see how that works...
I guess over the past few days, I have tried my best not to really think about things. It's been tiring to deal with everything, and I permitted myself a break from it all. In fact, while I was riding in the car with Robin to a dinner, I finally started talking about this whole ordeal again. I don't want to rehash things every day, but it does take time to process. I was grateful to her for talking with me--there are moments that hit me when I least expect it. I am hoping this feeling is normal. During these times, I feel this sudden dread that all of this stuff is happening whether I like it or not, and I feel absolutely and utterly helpless. There are no other words to describe the feeling that I am racing toward a wall, and there's no way to put on the brakes. I know in the end it all works out, but I also don't know what "works out" means in this situation.
I think I had mentioned this before, but I had the kids' photos made for their "birthday" time of year. We had my niece and nephew in town, and it was a good chance to get photos of all of them together. This was about two weeks before the surgery. The sad thing is in the madness of getting four children to look at the camera, I missed the opportunity to get a photo of just me and the kids. I remember coming home from the hospital, a few days after the surgery and everything, and sobbing in the shower. I came to the realization that I missed having a photo with the kids--a photo now will have my scar. And then I also had a brief flirtation with the idea of "what if something happened to me, and the kids didn't have a good picture with me?" That's not a great thought to have in the shower. Or ever.
Here's a shot of my beautiful children (taken by their Aunt Jessi):
So, in the next few weeks, I am going to try to get some good photos of me with the kids. Though I missed the opportunity to get GOOD photos of me and the kids, I can get a bunch of snapshots to fill that void.
And now, because my body cannot keep up any longer, I am going to bed EARLY. I will update more tomorrow, once I find out what's happening with my calcium levels. Wish me luck!
It's been almost three weeks since my surgery, and since my life has been turned upside-down. I was told it would be 7-14 days before I felt like returning to work, but that was before they uncovered the cancer diagnosis, and started me on all this other plan.
From the surgery, I can say that my scar has healed VERY nicely! This picture was taken this past Sunday, which was 17 days post-surgery.
Calcium Update: It seems that my body just doesn't want to get normal with the calcium! I have had the hardest time regulating it. We've had it go up, then shoot back down twice. That was even while I was INCREASING the amount of calcium supplements. I hope I have some relief soon- the twitching and muscle cramps are wearing me out.
The thyroid hormones were stopped yesterday, and I am really hoping that the yucky feeling I was having today wasn't my hormones already giving me trouble. I was supposed to get at least a few days of calm before the storm. I try to relax and realize that everyone is different, but the general consensus is that this will be a ROUGH period. I will be extremely tired, I will have muscle and body aches, I will be foggy and forgetful, and I will probably be moody. I hate it, because I know that I don't deserve to be tired and miserable, and the people around me don't deserve to hear me gripe. In a perfect world, I would be able to disappear for part of the time to stay out of people's hair. In the next few weeks, if you encounter me, consider giving me a hug or doing something nice like that. Chances are, I'll need it.
Work: I love my job, and I usually like the end of the year. This is the chance to do some fun things with the kids, and work on things for next year. I feel bad that the students won't get me at my best. I am grateful that I will be there to see everything at the end of the year, but I also feel bad that their last days of seeing me will be when I feel like death. I will try my best to keep a perky demeanor with them. We will see how that works...
I guess over the past few days, I have tried my best not to really think about things. It's been tiring to deal with everything, and I permitted myself a break from it all. In fact, while I was riding in the car with Robin to a dinner, I finally started talking about this whole ordeal again. I don't want to rehash things every day, but it does take time to process. I was grateful to her for talking with me--there are moments that hit me when I least expect it. I am hoping this feeling is normal. During these times, I feel this sudden dread that all of this stuff is happening whether I like it or not, and I feel absolutely and utterly helpless. There are no other words to describe the feeling that I am racing toward a wall, and there's no way to put on the brakes. I know in the end it all works out, but I also don't know what "works out" means in this situation.
I think I had mentioned this before, but I had the kids' photos made for their "birthday" time of year. We had my niece and nephew in town, and it was a good chance to get photos of all of them together. This was about two weeks before the surgery. The sad thing is in the madness of getting four children to look at the camera, I missed the opportunity to get a photo of just me and the kids. I remember coming home from the hospital, a few days after the surgery and everything, and sobbing in the shower. I came to the realization that I missed having a photo with the kids--a photo now will have my scar. And then I also had a brief flirtation with the idea of "what if something happened to me, and the kids didn't have a good picture with me?" That's not a great thought to have in the shower. Or ever.
Here's a shot of my beautiful children (taken by their Aunt Jessi):
So, in the next few weeks, I am going to try to get some good photos of me with the kids. Though I missed the opportunity to get GOOD photos of me and the kids, I can get a bunch of snapshots to fill that void.
And now, because my body cannot keep up any longer, I am going to bed EARLY. I will update more tomorrow, once I find out what's happening with my calcium levels. Wish me luck!
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
My Outlook
Well, it has been the better part of a week before I posted. I have actually attempted to make this post two different times, but never completed it.
On Friday, I visited the doctor and learned that he removed the one cancerous tumor. He said my chances of survival were pretty good, and I will be getting radioactive iodine treatment. He was pretty casual about it, but I made it to the hospital before the nurse called me. My calcium levels were still low, so I was getting my blood drawn AGAIN. I hated that the people at the hospital now knew me by name...
I was told that the endocrinologist wanted to see me Monday morning. They wanted me in QUICKLY. I agreed (because I didn't have a choice), got my blood drawn and headed back to work. I started feeling progressively worse as the day went on, and at about 2pm the nurse called to tell me that my calcium levels were as low as when I had problems in the hospital. I could tell something was up, because my muscles were twitching, I had terrible cramps in my legs, and my face was shuddering. They adjusted my supplementation again, and I went home to rest.
I will say I barely made it home. I felt absolutely miserable. I don't remember much of the night, other than talking to a friend for a long time. He did a good job of distracting me from my discomfort. I called the doctor, and he told me to take more meds. I went to bed finally, hoping everything would sort itself out.
The weekend was easy-going. On Saturday, we had a tea party for Carly's guest (a friend from school). By Sunday, I didn't leave bed except to make a cake in the morning. I was absolutely drained, and there was barely enough energy to eat. If I could have operated from bed, I would have been happier. I was a bit worried about how the week would go if I felt this bad on the weekend!
Monday came around, and I had to move the appt because of a work meeting. I arrived in the afternoon, to find that there was definitely cause to remove the thyroid. There were multiple nodules that looked strange, and the cancerous mass. I knew I did the right thing, but it helped to have more people back me up. They told me my schedule for the radioactive iodine, and went over how the withdrawal of thyroid hormones would work.
I told the doctor that I had gone through hypothyroidism before, and I knew what it was like. She laughed... HARD. She told me she saw and heard about my symptoms, but that my levels were never significantly below the appropriate level. In short: she told me this was going to be BAD. She said I had a great outlook, but to prepare myself for the worst. I was going to have ZERO energy, muscle pain, hair issues, my voice might get weird, and I will be moody. Very, very moody.
I took notes, and headed home. Well, actually I headed BACK to the hospital to give them MORE blood, then headed home. As I walked into the hospital, I saw on the news that there had just been a bombing at the Boston Marathon. I remember looking at the news, and wondering if this was a sign of some sort. It seems like there's always something, and it saddens me to think that there's so many people that don't value how precious life is.
I got home and intended to write about the experiences. I had been trying to write for the past few days. I guess my body finally became less vigilant, and was finally able to rest. I also tried desperately at work to get a lot done, because I knew once the medication withdrawal started, it was going to be a rough road. It would be better to get everything done, then I could sit back and enjoy the end of the year.
I'd like to say it's been easy the past few days, since I am recovering nicely. In reality, I barely get home from work, and am in miserable pain. I make it home wincing in pain to get through the doors of the house, and it's a battle to get everything done for the evening. I am just praying for Friday to get here QUICKLY.
Last night, before I fell asleep, I was thinking about the future. I thought about plans to get me through the summer, plans of what would ideally happen in the next year, and even where I wanted to be in the next ten years (the purpose of this blog). I also realize that I am a fantastic planner, and wanted to have plans around for things "just in case." I guess the fact that I can even write about all of this without crying tells me I have a certain level of detachment that is necessary to cope with all of this mess. I am definitely not saying things will go bad--I just realize that the POSSIBILITY is out there.
I also thought about my friend Scarlett, and how she told me this is one more thing I will conquer. I thought about all of the stuff I've been through- attack, TBI and long recovery (wheelchair to walking and running), abusive relationship and getting OUT, raising two kids on my own while working and trying to normalize their life, even surviving an attack in college. Suffice it to say, if I come to it, I will go through it. I guess cancer would inevitably make its way onto that list. Gee, when I look at the list, I can see why I intimidate men. ;-)
I'm not as verbose today as I was last week (can you imagine? this is short for me!). Tonight, I have a lot of thoughts swirling in my head. I know that I need to sort through these before I can write, but I also wanted to let you know where things stand.
I have yet to tell my friend Jere about this situation. I am usually quick to tell him about everything. I just don't want him to worry, because he is an oncologist. He has dealt with great success stories, and he's had terrible stories to tell. I have always wanted to be one of the good stories he tells. :-)
Alex lost his first tooth last night. I was so excited, because he has been looking forward to this milestone for weeks now. I felt a twinge of anxiety, because I saw how important it was to see this milestone. I had already been fully aware of these special moments, because I wondered how some people would choose to miss them! I realized that now he's losing a tooth, and won't be my baby boy for much longer. He'll be graduating kindergarten, sailing through grade school, and will be graduating in 2025. It won't be long before he has his career and family. And I hoped and prayed to God, in the ten seconds it took me to think of all of this, that I would be there to get the call from my grandchild, telling me he lost his first tooth! It's moments like these when I realize that a lot of great can come of my life. I also realize it is terrible precious and fragile, and I need to enjoy it while I can.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. -Psalm 139:14
This has been a Psalm that's been on my mind quite a bit lately. I am mystified at my life, and I know my friend Robin talks about how I can make hugging a trucker in a parking lot sound magical. I am so grateful I have that ability, and can see the amazing in the ordinary. It makes me appreciate really how much awe and amazing is created in every moment, and I am grateful for all of these experiences that have added so much to my life. Our trips around the sun are really too few, no matter how many years we get. They key to all of this is finding a rich life, and appreciating that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, no matter what our religious path. No matter what news we receive, or day we have at work. No matter what ideas are floating or pounding or swirling around in our heads. We all need these moments to center us; these moments where we lie on the driveway and stare in awe at the dark universe.
And for me, I was always the one to watch in awe. I will say there's an added glisten to all of these ordinary moments. I feel like I am seeing things differently, and really seeing how fantastic our world can be. Maybe that's the best gift I could receive right now, when terrible things happen and so many people are fearful. I know my place in this world, and my purpose as well. It is to inspire change, and to show love. If I can say I've done these two things every day, then I've served my purpose. This is really quite a feeling of contentment, and one that will ensure restful sleep tonight.
On Friday, I visited the doctor and learned that he removed the one cancerous tumor. He said my chances of survival were pretty good, and I will be getting radioactive iodine treatment. He was pretty casual about it, but I made it to the hospital before the nurse called me. My calcium levels were still low, so I was getting my blood drawn AGAIN. I hated that the people at the hospital now knew me by name...
I was told that the endocrinologist wanted to see me Monday morning. They wanted me in QUICKLY. I agreed (because I didn't have a choice), got my blood drawn and headed back to work. I started feeling progressively worse as the day went on, and at about 2pm the nurse called to tell me that my calcium levels were as low as when I had problems in the hospital. I could tell something was up, because my muscles were twitching, I had terrible cramps in my legs, and my face was shuddering. They adjusted my supplementation again, and I went home to rest.
I will say I barely made it home. I felt absolutely miserable. I don't remember much of the night, other than talking to a friend for a long time. He did a good job of distracting me from my discomfort. I called the doctor, and he told me to take more meds. I went to bed finally, hoping everything would sort itself out.
The weekend was easy-going. On Saturday, we had a tea party for Carly's guest (a friend from school). By Sunday, I didn't leave bed except to make a cake in the morning. I was absolutely drained, and there was barely enough energy to eat. If I could have operated from bed, I would have been happier. I was a bit worried about how the week would go if I felt this bad on the weekend!
Monday came around, and I had to move the appt because of a work meeting. I arrived in the afternoon, to find that there was definitely cause to remove the thyroid. There were multiple nodules that looked strange, and the cancerous mass. I knew I did the right thing, but it helped to have more people back me up. They told me my schedule for the radioactive iodine, and went over how the withdrawal of thyroid hormones would work.
I told the doctor that I had gone through hypothyroidism before, and I knew what it was like. She laughed... HARD. She told me she saw and heard about my symptoms, but that my levels were never significantly below the appropriate level. In short: she told me this was going to be BAD. She said I had a great outlook, but to prepare myself for the worst. I was going to have ZERO energy, muscle pain, hair issues, my voice might get weird, and I will be moody. Very, very moody.
I took notes, and headed home. Well, actually I headed BACK to the hospital to give them MORE blood, then headed home. As I walked into the hospital, I saw on the news that there had just been a bombing at the Boston Marathon. I remember looking at the news, and wondering if this was a sign of some sort. It seems like there's always something, and it saddens me to think that there's so many people that don't value how precious life is.
I got home and intended to write about the experiences. I had been trying to write for the past few days. I guess my body finally became less vigilant, and was finally able to rest. I also tried desperately at work to get a lot done, because I knew once the medication withdrawal started, it was going to be a rough road. It would be better to get everything done, then I could sit back and enjoy the end of the year.
I'd like to say it's been easy the past few days, since I am recovering nicely. In reality, I barely get home from work, and am in miserable pain. I make it home wincing in pain to get through the doors of the house, and it's a battle to get everything done for the evening. I am just praying for Friday to get here QUICKLY.
Last night, before I fell asleep, I was thinking about the future. I thought about plans to get me through the summer, plans of what would ideally happen in the next year, and even where I wanted to be in the next ten years (the purpose of this blog). I also realize that I am a fantastic planner, and wanted to have plans around for things "just in case." I guess the fact that I can even write about all of this without crying tells me I have a certain level of detachment that is necessary to cope with all of this mess. I am definitely not saying things will go bad--I just realize that the POSSIBILITY is out there.
I also thought about my friend Scarlett, and how she told me this is one more thing I will conquer. I thought about all of the stuff I've been through- attack, TBI and long recovery (wheelchair to walking and running), abusive relationship and getting OUT, raising two kids on my own while working and trying to normalize their life, even surviving an attack in college. Suffice it to say, if I come to it, I will go through it. I guess cancer would inevitably make its way onto that list. Gee, when I look at the list, I can see why I intimidate men. ;-)
I'm not as verbose today as I was last week (can you imagine? this is short for me!). Tonight, I have a lot of thoughts swirling in my head. I know that I need to sort through these before I can write, but I also wanted to let you know where things stand.
I have yet to tell my friend Jere about this situation. I am usually quick to tell him about everything. I just don't want him to worry, because he is an oncologist. He has dealt with great success stories, and he's had terrible stories to tell. I have always wanted to be one of the good stories he tells. :-)
Alex lost his first tooth last night. I was so excited, because he has been looking forward to this milestone for weeks now. I felt a twinge of anxiety, because I saw how important it was to see this milestone. I had already been fully aware of these special moments, because I wondered how some people would choose to miss them! I realized that now he's losing a tooth, and won't be my baby boy for much longer. He'll be graduating kindergarten, sailing through grade school, and will be graduating in 2025. It won't be long before he has his career and family. And I hoped and prayed to God, in the ten seconds it took me to think of all of this, that I would be there to get the call from my grandchild, telling me he lost his first tooth! It's moments like these when I realize that a lot of great can come of my life. I also realize it is terrible precious and fragile, and I need to enjoy it while I can.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
your works are wonderful,
I know that full well. -Psalm 139:14
This has been a Psalm that's been on my mind quite a bit lately. I am mystified at my life, and I know my friend Robin talks about how I can make hugging a trucker in a parking lot sound magical. I am so grateful I have that ability, and can see the amazing in the ordinary. It makes me appreciate really how much awe and amazing is created in every moment, and I am grateful for all of these experiences that have added so much to my life. Our trips around the sun are really too few, no matter how many years we get. They key to all of this is finding a rich life, and appreciating that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, no matter what our religious path. No matter what news we receive, or day we have at work. No matter what ideas are floating or pounding or swirling around in our heads. We all need these moments to center us; these moments where we lie on the driveway and stare in awe at the dark universe.
And for me, I was always the one to watch in awe. I will say there's an added glisten to all of these ordinary moments. I feel like I am seeing things differently, and really seeing how fantastic our world can be. Maybe that's the best gift I could receive right now, when terrible things happen and so many people are fearful. I know my place in this world, and my purpose as well. It is to inspire change, and to show love. If I can say I've done these two things every day, then I've served my purpose. This is really quite a feeling of contentment, and one that will ensure restful sleep tonight.
Thursday, April 11, 2013
The Waiting
I always hate the night before news. It can be good news or bad, but I always end up anxious, and I usually end up too introspective. Although, as I've talked to people, I wouldn't trade my overthinking for anything. :-)
Tomorrow I meet with the surgeon to talk about the pathology results, to remove my stitches, and to hopefully make a real plan. I will say that I have had the absolute best experience with Dr. Jeffrey Paffrath in Murfreesboro. At first, when I was coming out of surgery, I wanted all of the answers, and I wanted them NOW. He has been incredibly thorough, but he has also let me deal with each piece one at a time--he ensured I made it through surgery and had a night's rest before giving me the diagnosis, he told me we will talk more and needed to focus on calcium, then he has called and worked with me consistently over the past week to get my calcium back in an acceptable range, and now we deal with the next part. I will say that his confidence in dealing with all of these issues has put my mind at ease quite a bit. And for a person that has had her world turned upside-down, I will say that was quite a relief.
I will go ahead and tell you a few things I've observed over this week. First of all, the song "Live Like You Were Dying" should now be on my forever banned playlist. And right now, I get a little teary watching the sun rise and set. I am not sure where I'm going with that, I've always liked both the rising and setting of the sun. For some reason, it's just too much for me right now. But that brings me to a real point...
My aunt posted a little bit ago, in response to my last post. I am annoyingly positive, and I always have to be DOING something. This helps other people that are in crisis, but it does usually leave me exhausted if it's my own trauma. I was speaking with a friend last night, and he said something interesting. We were talking about leadership and personality styles, and how different people were. I told him I wasn't sure where I fit- I didn't mind leading, but I really enjoyed supporting others. He had an interesting thought: he said that I have thrived in the leadership I have had, but these were positions I had out of necessity. I didn't seek them, but I needed to be able to survive, and so I made the best. I think there was quite a bit of truth to it. As much as it looks like I am Rosie the Riveter, I'd rather be the supportive June Cleaver. But the opportunities such as these have yet to arise...
Which brings me back to my original point, pertaining to my fantastic Aunt Carol: she told me to be who I am, to look for that support, and to go through these stages of grief. I know she's right. The truth? I am in tears as I write this... It's a delicate balance between maintaining control and losing it, and when I am a mother, and a teacher, a daughter, a friend, and a supporter to others, I worry that I won't be at my best. And I worry that once I fall down, it will be really hard to come back up. Or, I won't.
I like having plans- they comfort me. I know this seems like some colossal joke then, because none of this situation really has a plan. But in an effort to operate low-energy, I do feel like a plan would help. And I feel like a plan would also let me let others help me. I know so many people ask how they could help. I don't want to inconvenience people, and I also don't know what to tell them to do. I realize now they feel as helpless as me about all of this. Maybe with some direction, we'll all start to make it through.
When I came home from the hospital, I had to sit the children down and explain to them what had happened. It's traumatizing for young children to have their only available parent disappear to the hospital for an extended period (though my parents were absolutely GREAT to help out!), for mommy to come home a whole day later than planned, with a giant cut and stitches across her neck, and for mommy to tell them that the doctor took cancer out. I hugged them, held them, and told them I loved them dearly. I told them the doctor got all he could, and will give mommy some medicine to take in a few weeks that should eat up all the rest of the cancer cells. For children that knew mommy was just going to have an operation and come home, I know this was a lot to handle. For a few days afterward, we were all in a fog. I admittedly lost my temper easily, they cried a little more than usual, and it was really just a miracle we are all sane now.
Last night, Alex, Carly and I sat on his bed and talked about all that had happened. We had been talking over the past days, but I know the kids didn't really know what to ask. I didn't push too much before, because I didn't know if I had the energy to answer the questions (or even the answers!). Last night, I went ahead and asked him if his extra crying was dealing with mommy's cancer news, or that she's been sick in the house. Even with the help of my parents, he's sensitive to me, and seems to react when I become ill. I figured that was the reason for the moodiness, and I was right. What I found in the conversation, is that he is just like me.
He wants to help, and he needs to know what to do. We talked about ways he can work on responsibility, help mommy around the house (which gives her more energy for fun things!), and help him relax about his worries. I answered their questions, told them everything will be ok, hugged them and kissed them, and we went to bed.
I think most people are like Alex, and when they know what to do, and have a purpose in the situation, then they feel calm. I am convinced that's why churches send food when bad things happen. When life hands you lemons, then send cakes and casseroles! It's sweet how people try to ease the burden of others. It restores my faith in humanity every time I see it.
I have seen a lot of that over the past few days at school. When you teach, you are part of a pretty tight community. I will admit that I felt like an outsider when I moved to the area last year, but they quickly welcomed me. Through this year, as the tests have moved toward the direction of surgery, people have been more quick to check on me and help in any way they could. When I got the diagnosis, and I told my family, I was comfortable enough to tell my boss, because he's that easy to talk to. It made it so much easier to know it was out there, and I didn't have to sit and worry about what I would tell him. And when I returned to work, over the past few days, people have been fantastic. Students have been honestly wanting to know how I have been doing(and though it's really public, I haven't shared the specifics with many outside those that I teach), because when you see teenagers for most of their day, you become family. Coworkers have stepped up to cover my classes when I couldn't make it through the day, and I will be honest: I was grateful when my boss looked me in the eye Tuesday, knew I wouldn't make it through the day (or the next few hours), but allowed me my stubborn pride to give it a shot. The last thing I wanted was to be babied. True, I didn't make it, but at least I wanted to give it my best shot.
This might all seem like rambling, and it probably is. There have been a lot of thoughts that have been floating in my head this week. There have been great thoughts, fantastic memories, and thoughts of what I want to do differently in the future. I have started to relax a bit, which I think will let me start to move through these stages of grief a little easier.
I definitely don't have the answers, and I really don't even have a lot of the questions right now. Sometimes I feel like I am wandering around blindly, feeling for a light switch. I feel like if I can just turn the light ON, I can start to make sense of everything. The truth is I am wondering if the light would even help. This might be something I have to feel, sight unseen.
I feel like I want to say some things, but I also feel like I shouldn't go there. I am a firm believer in letting people know how you feel about them, but I also don't want to be a crazy person that leaves my manifesto. I am by no means giving up or acting sappy. But I do think that it's a good time to acknowledge important people in my life, and all they have done for me. We don't say kind things enough to each other, and I want that to end with me now. So, here goes (and this list is by no means exhaustive- it's a work in progress):
My mother- I want to thank her for being an incredible rock. She has been strong and steady, and seems to know what I want to hear. We bicker, but that's because we are so alike. We also have more fun laughing than two people deserve to in a hospital. I am grateful she has been here to support me through this week, and really for the past years of my life. No doubt it has been a roller coaster; she has always stood strong beside me, helping me stand up after each defeat.
My father- He is such a good man. I know he is lost in this situation, because there's nothing he can really do. He looked at me Tuesday, when I looked like death. I was crying before work, because I didn't know if I could do it. He told me, "You can do it! You can be a hero right NOW!" Carly quickly corrected him, that I didn't have a cape... But he has been the most fantastic support to my children, a wonderful father, and a great role model of how a husband should be. I am thankful for moving back home, and getting this chance to get to know him better.
My brother- He moved away to Seattle to follow his dreams, which makes me more happy than anything. I am insanely proud of him, and will tell anyone that will listen. He's a fantastic friend, a great father to his children, and he really stepped up to provide a lot of support to my children when they needed it the most. I have always been close with him, because whenever we moved, we were all we had. I remember sitting in the same room, him playing video games and me reading a book. I was always comforted by his proximity. I also remember the time I paid him to wear my high heels and break them in for prom... Watching him playing video games with his legs crossed and navy blue pumps was priceless. ;-) We still have a great sense of humor, and I appreciate that I can call to talk when I need to. And that when we go awhile without talking, it's ok.
Allison, my sister-in-law- She started dating my brother when they were sixteen, so I have known her for almost half of her life. She has always been warm, loving and supportive, but is also incredibly honest with me. I love that we can talk honestly, and still communicate well. And I also love how much she loves my children (as I do hers!), and how much she has done to help them become great human beings! She's a great mother to her babies, and a great friend. I love her very dearly. :-)
Robin, my best friend- When I moved home to Tullahoma, I was reunited with a friend from high school. I was never a big fan of being female friends, but Robin definitely proved me wrong. I remember meeting her for coffee, and having her say "why on earth haven't we been friends all along?!?" Because I knew that God had a plan, and he knew when we needed each other. He knew I would need someone that cut through the BS, and someone that pushed me to follow my dreams. He also required that this same person keep me laughing constantly, and always go home from our meetings in happy tears. I am so glad that such a transitional period in my life was met with such a good friend.
Scarlett, my other best friend- I would say, that for a woman that doesn't have many female friends, I was blessed over the past two years. I am beyond thrilled to have Scarlett as my friend. She has been a great coworker, a wonderful lunch buddy, and someone I can be completely honest with. I appreciate her insight, the fact that we are both moms and share thoughts on this regularly, and how appreciative she is of my trying to help. :-) I am truly blessed to work with someone that has the interest of her coworkers, her students, and her friend at heart at all times. And when we went to the special education convention together, she stayed in her own bed. That owns her bonus points. :-D
I don't want this to go on all night, so I will be sure to continue these posts. I want to tell all of the people around me how I feel. I don't think they are wasted words of affirmation. I assure you I am not high at the moment--I just know that I enjoy hearing kind words. I know that this is one gift I can give others right now.
My final words...
I have two beautiful children, Alex and Carly, that are my world. I do think if they were not in the picture, I would have already given in, and wouldn't have left the bed. I love them fiercely and wonderfully, and can see so many beautiful, wonderful things in their future. I try so hard to be a good mother, and I am happy to hear and receive so much love in return. I remember being pregnant, and having many talks with God. All I wished for with each baby?
I wanted a child that would show so much love to the world. I was convinced that two children that intensely loved those around them could be the greatest change I could make for the world. And I am determined to help them grow, to keep that passion and fire burning bright, and to show plenty of love to all of those around them. I am proud of their compassionate, empathetic souls, and know that I have left such a beautiful legacy so far.
The tears are drying, and I'll assure you there have been plenty while typing this post. I needed to get out a good cry, and usually the only way I can do that is by writing honestly. I certainly don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, but my hope is that through my honest writing, you will get a gift as well. I am a person that has quite a big wall built around herself. I think it's time for the wall to come down. It'll take time, but this will be the best way to do it. So bear with me, and know I will be writing often.
And to end, because I am a geek at heart, one of my fantastically favorite quotes. Seems fitting about now:
Tomorrow I meet with the surgeon to talk about the pathology results, to remove my stitches, and to hopefully make a real plan. I will say that I have had the absolute best experience with Dr. Jeffrey Paffrath in Murfreesboro. At first, when I was coming out of surgery, I wanted all of the answers, and I wanted them NOW. He has been incredibly thorough, but he has also let me deal with each piece one at a time--he ensured I made it through surgery and had a night's rest before giving me the diagnosis, he told me we will talk more and needed to focus on calcium, then he has called and worked with me consistently over the past week to get my calcium back in an acceptable range, and now we deal with the next part. I will say that his confidence in dealing with all of these issues has put my mind at ease quite a bit. And for a person that has had her world turned upside-down, I will say that was quite a relief.
I will go ahead and tell you a few things I've observed over this week. First of all, the song "Live Like You Were Dying" should now be on my forever banned playlist. And right now, I get a little teary watching the sun rise and set. I am not sure where I'm going with that, I've always liked both the rising and setting of the sun. For some reason, it's just too much for me right now. But that brings me to a real point...
My aunt posted a little bit ago, in response to my last post. I am annoyingly positive, and I always have to be DOING something. This helps other people that are in crisis, but it does usually leave me exhausted if it's my own trauma. I was speaking with a friend last night, and he said something interesting. We were talking about leadership and personality styles, and how different people were. I told him I wasn't sure where I fit- I didn't mind leading, but I really enjoyed supporting others. He had an interesting thought: he said that I have thrived in the leadership I have had, but these were positions I had out of necessity. I didn't seek them, but I needed to be able to survive, and so I made the best. I think there was quite a bit of truth to it. As much as it looks like I am Rosie the Riveter, I'd rather be the supportive June Cleaver. But the opportunities such as these have yet to arise...
Which brings me back to my original point, pertaining to my fantastic Aunt Carol: she told me to be who I am, to look for that support, and to go through these stages of grief. I know she's right. The truth? I am in tears as I write this... It's a delicate balance between maintaining control and losing it, and when I am a mother, and a teacher, a daughter, a friend, and a supporter to others, I worry that I won't be at my best. And I worry that once I fall down, it will be really hard to come back up. Or, I won't.
I like having plans- they comfort me. I know this seems like some colossal joke then, because none of this situation really has a plan. But in an effort to operate low-energy, I do feel like a plan would help. And I feel like a plan would also let me let others help me. I know so many people ask how they could help. I don't want to inconvenience people, and I also don't know what to tell them to do. I realize now they feel as helpless as me about all of this. Maybe with some direction, we'll all start to make it through.
When I came home from the hospital, I had to sit the children down and explain to them what had happened. It's traumatizing for young children to have their only available parent disappear to the hospital for an extended period (though my parents were absolutely GREAT to help out!), for mommy to come home a whole day later than planned, with a giant cut and stitches across her neck, and for mommy to tell them that the doctor took cancer out. I hugged them, held them, and told them I loved them dearly. I told them the doctor got all he could, and will give mommy some medicine to take in a few weeks that should eat up all the rest of the cancer cells. For children that knew mommy was just going to have an operation and come home, I know this was a lot to handle. For a few days afterward, we were all in a fog. I admittedly lost my temper easily, they cried a little more than usual, and it was really just a miracle we are all sane now.
Last night, Alex, Carly and I sat on his bed and talked about all that had happened. We had been talking over the past days, but I know the kids didn't really know what to ask. I didn't push too much before, because I didn't know if I had the energy to answer the questions (or even the answers!). Last night, I went ahead and asked him if his extra crying was dealing with mommy's cancer news, or that she's been sick in the house. Even with the help of my parents, he's sensitive to me, and seems to react when I become ill. I figured that was the reason for the moodiness, and I was right. What I found in the conversation, is that he is just like me.
He wants to help, and he needs to know what to do. We talked about ways he can work on responsibility, help mommy around the house (which gives her more energy for fun things!), and help him relax about his worries. I answered their questions, told them everything will be ok, hugged them and kissed them, and we went to bed.
I think most people are like Alex, and when they know what to do, and have a purpose in the situation, then they feel calm. I am convinced that's why churches send food when bad things happen. When life hands you lemons, then send cakes and casseroles! It's sweet how people try to ease the burden of others. It restores my faith in humanity every time I see it.
I have seen a lot of that over the past few days at school. When you teach, you are part of a pretty tight community. I will admit that I felt like an outsider when I moved to the area last year, but they quickly welcomed me. Through this year, as the tests have moved toward the direction of surgery, people have been more quick to check on me and help in any way they could. When I got the diagnosis, and I told my family, I was comfortable enough to tell my boss, because he's that easy to talk to. It made it so much easier to know it was out there, and I didn't have to sit and worry about what I would tell him. And when I returned to work, over the past few days, people have been fantastic. Students have been honestly wanting to know how I have been doing(and though it's really public, I haven't shared the specifics with many outside those that I teach), because when you see teenagers for most of their day, you become family. Coworkers have stepped up to cover my classes when I couldn't make it through the day, and I will be honest: I was grateful when my boss looked me in the eye Tuesday, knew I wouldn't make it through the day (or the next few hours), but allowed me my stubborn pride to give it a shot. The last thing I wanted was to be babied. True, I didn't make it, but at least I wanted to give it my best shot.
This might all seem like rambling, and it probably is. There have been a lot of thoughts that have been floating in my head this week. There have been great thoughts, fantastic memories, and thoughts of what I want to do differently in the future. I have started to relax a bit, which I think will let me start to move through these stages of grief a little easier.
I definitely don't have the answers, and I really don't even have a lot of the questions right now. Sometimes I feel like I am wandering around blindly, feeling for a light switch. I feel like if I can just turn the light ON, I can start to make sense of everything. The truth is I am wondering if the light would even help. This might be something I have to feel, sight unseen.
I feel like I want to say some things, but I also feel like I shouldn't go there. I am a firm believer in letting people know how you feel about them, but I also don't want to be a crazy person that leaves my manifesto. I am by no means giving up or acting sappy. But I do think that it's a good time to acknowledge important people in my life, and all they have done for me. We don't say kind things enough to each other, and I want that to end with me now. So, here goes (and this list is by no means exhaustive- it's a work in progress):
My mother- I want to thank her for being an incredible rock. She has been strong and steady, and seems to know what I want to hear. We bicker, but that's because we are so alike. We also have more fun laughing than two people deserve to in a hospital. I am grateful she has been here to support me through this week, and really for the past years of my life. No doubt it has been a roller coaster; she has always stood strong beside me, helping me stand up after each defeat.
My father- He is such a good man. I know he is lost in this situation, because there's nothing he can really do. He looked at me Tuesday, when I looked like death. I was crying before work, because I didn't know if I could do it. He told me, "You can do it! You can be a hero right NOW!" Carly quickly corrected him, that I didn't have a cape... But he has been the most fantastic support to my children, a wonderful father, and a great role model of how a husband should be. I am thankful for moving back home, and getting this chance to get to know him better.
My brother- He moved away to Seattle to follow his dreams, which makes me more happy than anything. I am insanely proud of him, and will tell anyone that will listen. He's a fantastic friend, a great father to his children, and he really stepped up to provide a lot of support to my children when they needed it the most. I have always been close with him, because whenever we moved, we were all we had. I remember sitting in the same room, him playing video games and me reading a book. I was always comforted by his proximity. I also remember the time I paid him to wear my high heels and break them in for prom... Watching him playing video games with his legs crossed and navy blue pumps was priceless. ;-) We still have a great sense of humor, and I appreciate that I can call to talk when I need to. And that when we go awhile without talking, it's ok.
Allison, my sister-in-law- She started dating my brother when they were sixteen, so I have known her for almost half of her life. She has always been warm, loving and supportive, but is also incredibly honest with me. I love that we can talk honestly, and still communicate well. And I also love how much she loves my children (as I do hers!), and how much she has done to help them become great human beings! She's a great mother to her babies, and a great friend. I love her very dearly. :-)
Robin, my best friend- When I moved home to Tullahoma, I was reunited with a friend from high school. I was never a big fan of being female friends, but Robin definitely proved me wrong. I remember meeting her for coffee, and having her say "why on earth haven't we been friends all along?!?" Because I knew that God had a plan, and he knew when we needed each other. He knew I would need someone that cut through the BS, and someone that pushed me to follow my dreams. He also required that this same person keep me laughing constantly, and always go home from our meetings in happy tears. I am so glad that such a transitional period in my life was met with such a good friend.
Scarlett, my other best friend- I would say, that for a woman that doesn't have many female friends, I was blessed over the past two years. I am beyond thrilled to have Scarlett as my friend. She has been a great coworker, a wonderful lunch buddy, and someone I can be completely honest with. I appreciate her insight, the fact that we are both moms and share thoughts on this regularly, and how appreciative she is of my trying to help. :-) I am truly blessed to work with someone that has the interest of her coworkers, her students, and her friend at heart at all times. And when we went to the special education convention together, she stayed in her own bed. That owns her bonus points. :-D
I don't want this to go on all night, so I will be sure to continue these posts. I want to tell all of the people around me how I feel. I don't think they are wasted words of affirmation. I assure you I am not high at the moment--I just know that I enjoy hearing kind words. I know that this is one gift I can give others right now.
My final words...
I have two beautiful children, Alex and Carly, that are my world. I do think if they were not in the picture, I would have already given in, and wouldn't have left the bed. I love them fiercely and wonderfully, and can see so many beautiful, wonderful things in their future. I try so hard to be a good mother, and I am happy to hear and receive so much love in return. I remember being pregnant, and having many talks with God. All I wished for with each baby?
I wanted a child that would show so much love to the world. I was convinced that two children that intensely loved those around them could be the greatest change I could make for the world. And I am determined to help them grow, to keep that passion and fire burning bright, and to show plenty of love to all of those around them. I am proud of their compassionate, empathetic souls, and know that I have left such a beautiful legacy so far.
The tears are drying, and I'll assure you there have been plenty while typing this post. I needed to get out a good cry, and usually the only way I can do that is by writing honestly. I certainly don't want anyone to feel sorry for me, but my hope is that through my honest writing, you will get a gift as well. I am a person that has quite a big wall built around herself. I think it's time for the wall to come down. It'll take time, but this will be the best way to do it. So bear with me, and know I will be writing often.
And to end, because I am a geek at heart, one of my fantastically favorite quotes. Seems fitting about now:
“I went to the woods because
I wanted to live deliberately,
I wanted to live deep and suck out all the marrow of life,
To put to rout all that was not life
and not when I had come to die
Discover that I had not lived.”
-Henry David Thoreau
And no, I will not be camping anytime in the foreseeable future... LOL
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