Diagnosis day aka the day we busted

When April 29 comes around, the countdown of days begins in my head. April 29, 2014 was the day that Mom and I were headed to Disneyland to meet up with my brother, sister-in-law and niece for a few days of fun. The plan was for her to pick me up from work and we would hit the road. Around noon, I received a text - "Dr called your Dad in to talk about his test results. Not sure if I should go with him or not." We went back and forth a little before the decision was made, "Your Dad said I should just go ahead with our plans. I'll be there to pick you up." Looking back, I wish I had pushed her to make a different decision.

Mom came and picked me up. As we made our way out of town I posted on Facebook, "Disneyland or bust!" I remember the exact point of the road when the phone rang, where we answered the call and my Dad's voice came through the car speakers, "You better come home. I...", he said something that got lost in the cell reception, road noise and maybe the fuzziness of our brains that comes when really bad news is about to be delivered that you really don't want to hear. We looked at each other, neither one of us fully comprehending what was said, and I asked, "What did you say?" My Dad replied, loud and clear, with a irritation in his voice at having to say it again, "I have Leukemia." I'm not sure there was even a second that passed before my Mom was changing lanes to make a U-turn. We busted.

I don't recall what Mom and I talked about in the hour or so it took to get home. I'm not sure we talked much. I remember getting home and sitting on the couch across from my Dad as he recounted the diagnosis, Acute Myeloid Leukemia. He could live 6 months to a year without treatment, or he could try chemotherapy. We talked about those options. We talked about the what-if's. We sat and looked at each other, each of us lost in our own sense of disbelief that this was actually happening. At one point, my Dad looked at me and uttered the words that have become an inside joke between my Mom and me, "If I die, you get my car." I didn't want his car. I had a car. I didn't NEED his car, I needed him. I now own his car.

We decided that I was to continue the journey that my Mom and I had started earlier that day, and head to Disneyland, more specifically, to go be with my Brother. I picked up the phone and made the call, sharing news that would forever alter the trajectory of our family. 34 days later, he was the one telling me news that forever altered our family. 

That weekend was when Disneyland became my refuge, a place to escape, to be happy, even though I was really, really sad. I had a few hours alone one day, my first solo experience in Disneyland, and just walked through the parks, watching families enjoy the magic that is Disneyland. I welcomed the laughter and the joy. I left the reality of what was happening at the gates, and immersed myself in the Happiest Place on Earth. People ask me, all the time, why I go to Disneyland so much. It's my refuge.

My Dad chose chemotherapy. He took a gamble and got 34 days. He went out on his terms. April 29 - Diagnosis day, aka the day we busted. It comes around every year and the countdown starts in my head.

What makes a story believable?

Twenty-nine years ago I was taking classes at the local Community College. I typically tried to take as many classes in one day as possible, so my schedule could go from 8am to 9pm, depending on the day. This particular day I had a long break between classes, so I took advantage of the break, as I typically did, and drove to a spot near the ocean to study. I pulled into an open spot, turned off the car, pulled out my books and started to read. I don't remember how long I had been there before I looked up and around. A car had parked to the right of me. There were people strolling along the beach. The sun was shining but it wasn't too warm. I checked my surroundings, felt secure and went back to studying. Not long after I felt the weight of someone's stare. I looked up and to my right and made eye contact with the guy in the car next to me. He had a leering smile on his face that immediately made me uncomfortable. I quickly looked away but continued to feel his stare. Glancing over again, I confirmed he was still staring at me in the creepy leering way and his hands were very, very busy in his lap. I decided it was time to get the hell out of there.

I never told anyone what had happened. I felt too vulnerable, like I had put myself in the situation and I was to blame. I hadn't been physically assaulted and I never actually saw any body parts, so, I told myself, maybe I was just jumping to conclusions. Twenty-nine years later, I can still see the creepy, leering look on the man's face and remember being afraid that he would follow me as I drove away. I never parked at that particular beach again for study breaks. 

I know women who have been physically and sexually abused. They don't openly share their stories easily. The guilt, the shame lingers. For some they hope that by not talking about it will mean that they can forget. But "it" continues to loom. The abuse has shaped them, is a lens through which they view many aspects of life and is never forgotten.

A few years back, I was scrolling through FB and ran across a post from an extended family member that had me seeing red pretty much all day. It was a picture of a little boy, probably not more than 2 or 3, being held by a woman with large breasts and, as little boys do, he was touching her breast. The caption read something to the effect that he would never make it to the Supreme Court because of the picture, alluding to accusations against the then nominee for the Supreme Court, Mr. Kavanaugh of attempted rape. Along with sharing the photo this extended family member made a comment to the effect of, "I know I'm going to be hear about this but how dumb is this investigation." I clicked on the comments. There were only a few, but they all said pretty much the same thing - "haha, great photo, isn't this whole investigation so ridiculous?"

At lunch that day, I scrolled back through FB and there were more comments on the post. One person, a woman, commented that sexual harassment wasn't a joke, wasn't okay and shouldn't be taken lightly. The extended family member replied with "yeah, but it's those 'liberals' who are making this all a big political mess and how can anyone remember what happened 36 years ago anyway?" I saw flaming red. 

I thought about commenting on the post. I thought about asking this extended family member how they would feel if that woman was one of their relatives. I thought about asking, if the Supreme Court nominee was more liberal leaning if they would believe the woman coming forward. I thought about asking them what their earliest memories were or if they had ever been assaulted or been in a traumatic situation. I thought about leaving a snarky comment, "great Christian witness you are", or "casting stones are we?", but knew that was just stooping to their level. The discourse on the post was already flaming and the "stupid liberals" phrase was being banded about so much I knew whatever I had to say was going to fall on deaf ears. Ultimately, the decision I needed to make was simple. With one click we were no longer FB friends. I haven't talked to them since and, honestly, that's okay.

Twenty-nine years later, I couldn't tell you the book I was reading or the make, model and color of the car next to me. I couldn't even give you a really good description of the leering man in the car next to me. What I do remember is the feeling of being violated, in a sense. Even recounting the experience my stomach turns and I feel slightly ashamed, and all I was doing was studying in my car by the beach. Just because I didn't tell anyone, doesn't make it any less real. Just because I didn't report it, doesn't mean it didn't happen.

I wonder if that extended family member would believe my story? Does actually knowing a person make their story more credible, more believable? Or would my "liberal" viewpoints overshadow my story, my experience? I'll probably never know.

A post about nature and me

There was a spider in my hair this morning. My hair was in it's usual half bun/half ponytail, messy from sleeping. I took out the hair tie, felt a knot of hair and thought not much of it since I was headed to the shower. Washed my hair, took my hands out of my hair and there was something stuck on one hand that wasn't hair. I reacted like any startled person should, I violently shook my hand and off flung a spider...dead. It went down the shower drain. I have no idea if the spider crawled in during the night or got stuck in there when I was briefly doing yard work last evening. All I know is there was a spider in my hair and I've been grossed out all day long. I've felt like something was crawling on me and my head has itched. I remembered hearing stories of the spiders that somehow lay their eggs under peoples skin and, eventually, when the eggs hatch a spider emerges from.the.human, which has me a little paranoid! NO, NO, NO!! (Pretty sure this happened to the sister of one of my friends. She was living in Africa at the time, but still!)

The night before the skunk visited our house. It was outside, but I sleep with a window cracked open and that stinker made itself known about 10pm. I was closing windows, lighting candles, turning the air purifier on high and basically doing anything I could to get the smell of skunk out of the house. I finally blew out the candle (cause we all know it's not okay to go to sleep with a candle burning!) and went to sleep about 11:30pm only to have the phone ring at midnight. Phones ringing at midnight in my house means bad news...or, in this case, the stupid junk fax people that keep trying to fax to our home phone. Of course, I was awake then. I got back to sleep after 1:30am only to wake up at 3am, because, well I have no idea. I got back to sleep about 4:30am and then the alarm went off at 5:45am. I was kind of a mess at work on Monday.

Some parts of nature and I are not getting along these days. But then there is nature on the deck that I'm getting along well with. Beautiful daffodils, freshly potted pansies, violas and petunias. Plus the cool new solar fountain I got for Christmas and the other plants that are starting to come back after winter. The front deck is my happy place in nature these days. OH and we had a visitor back in February that we caught on camera. Unfortunately this visitor brought an unwilling guest...but hey, that's nature!

The road to blogging again starts with a sentence...or maybe two

The words that seem to flow easily through my head in the car or in the shower tend to stop as I get to this page and the blinking cursor. That is, if I make it to a computer at all. Blogging on a cellphone or on a tablet just doesn't work for me. I need the clicking of a keyboard, my fingers working and back and forth spilling out my thoughts onto a blank, white page. But turning on a computer at night, after a long day of work isn't always appealing. So the thoughts, the words, the blog post ideas, wither away within my brain.

13 blog posts sit as drafts. On the rare moments when I sit down watch the cursor flash on this blank page, I get only so far and then I lose momentum. I can't find an ending. Wrapping up my thoughts seems to be too difficult, require too much energy and so I hit "save" and another draft is racked up.

Spending time writing is one more thing that has taken a back seat to work. Writing used to be something that I did for work. Passionate words about God and Faith and Jesus that flowed from my heart. My words weren't always written on a page but written in my heart and spoken to ears that needed to hear. Now, the words I write are about office supplies. They don't really come from my heart and, though I am an office supply junkie, I'm not really passionate about them. Somewhere in this journey of life, I wandered away from writing, and I want to get back there again.

And so, the road to blogging, the road back to writing starts now. With one sentence, and then another, and another, and another...

A post about getting older

In about 35 hours I will officially turn another year older. For the past few years I've been noticing changes that are occurring within me. The signs are all pointing to peri-menopause or pre-menopause or whatever you want to call it. Most things I just take as they are. Hot flashes - got 'em, hate 'em but it's not the end of the world. Weight gain...that's nothing new. New wrinkles, sagging areas of flesh, wiry hairs on my chin, achy joints, check, check, check and check. Gray hair, well, that's what hair dye is for and exploring new colors has been fun! That "time of the month" coming closer together but shorter in length, it's annoying but, eh. It's all a part of the deal and I know I'm not alone.

There are two things, though, that have caused me to pause and internally stress during this peri-menopause phase of life - hormone surges and memory loss.

I noticed the memory loss a few years back. I would be mid-sentence and suddenly realize that I couldn't remember a word that I wanted to use. I could visualize the word, I just could not come up with the word. As I came closer to needing to say the word, my mind would race trying to fit the word into the picture in my head of what I wanted to say. The more I stressed over trying to find the word, the more elusive the word would be and I would wind up saying things like, "you know that animal that has four legs, pointed ears, whiskers and chases mice" instead of "cat" because I could not come up with the word cat.  C.A.T...CAT! All my life, words have been important to me. I love stringing them together in spaces such as this, sharing my thoughts and feelings. I loved the times when I was able to preach and share the inspiration and faith I had found in Jesus and the Bible with others. I take words seriously and have worked to use my words for good. So the fact that mid-sentence I suddenly couldn't come up with a very simple, every day word, jostled my confidence. I can handle a lot. Losing simple words is pushing my "what I can handle" limits.

This year I've noticed the hormone surges. Serious hormone surges that seemingly come out of nowhere and take me to the edge of feeling out of control. I've noticed a tendency to get so very angry over nothing. Or I operate at a near state of tears. It's PMS on steroids. I've always been a pretty sensitive person, but the hormone surges have taken me beyond sensitive. Add in hot flashes and this sensitive, controlled person becomes an out of control, hot mess...literally.

As I turn another year older, I anticipate this only getting worse. I'm not sure how long this whole peri-menopause/menopause thing is going to last. So if you see me and I'm struggling to finish a sentence, alternating between anger and sadness, and sweating profusely, just know the moment will pass. I'll figure out the word, my emotions will return to normal and my body temperature will cool...it just may take a few days. I'm just getting older. 

A post about turning a corner

When I turned the corner it was noticeable...at least to me. Others may not have caught on but all of a sudden I went from feeling like there was no hope anywhere to feeling peaceful. Not happy, still quick to tears, still finding it hard to believe that this isn't all a really bad dream...but better. I'd been waiting for better.

Grief is an individual state of being. We all go through the highs and lows at different times. I can move from laughter to tears without even blinking.  Being the private person I am, I tend to not want to share everything with everybody all the time. I've drifted off into a corner by myself, needing to work through the emotions, the waves of regrets and sadness, the misty-eyed bittersweet memories, the unconscionable pain of missing my Dad...my friend. There are some who have understood that need to curl up by myself and allow the emotions to play. There are some who haven't understood at all.

What I have learned about grief, that I knew but didn't know, was how much of an individual process it truly is, how long it can take to feel semi-okay again and how some people just don't get it. My favorite question came from a friend who asked, just 20 days after my Dad died, "So, are you over it yet?" I didn't take offense. My filter was not on and I laughed at him and told him, no, I would never be over it.  He couldn't relate at the time. Unfortunately, he can relate now.

The journey of grief that I continue to traverse is filled with highs and lows, ups and downs and unexpected turns. My Mom and I are remodeling the kitchen, which means all the cabinets that my Dad built are being removed. I didn't think about it until my Uncle came over to look at the kitchen floor and made a comment about how well the cabinets were built. He left and I broke down. Taking those cabinets means letting go of another piece of my Dad. I was sharing that story with a friend and she looked at me and said "but there are still so many things in the house that your Dad built!". She didn't get it. It doesn't matter how much is still left, every little piece I let go hurts. It's another acknowledgement that he is never coming back. (The kitchen is still being remodeled...my Uncle is taking the cabinets.)

So, on it goes. The ups and the downs, the laughter and the tears. The sweet memories and the regrets. Old kitchen cabinets are removed, new cabinets are brought in and time moves on.and grief remains.

A post on "the change"

I was wandering through Target. I had a list of items I was looking for, things I actually needed, items I wanted but didn't need. I wandered down one aisle and felt a tingling in my body. It was subtle, a feeling I'd had when it had been awhile since eating or drinking anything. I picked up my pace a little, and headed towards the card aisle. That's when the sweating began. This wasn't low blood sugar, this was a hot flash.

I don't really understand why women's bodies have to go through menopause, the "change", whatever you decide to call it. I don't get how one minute I can be sleeping peacefully and the next minute sweating so profusely that I have to get up and change my pj's. I don't understand why I can be calming walking through Target one moment and the next standing in the card aisle fanning myself with the biggest card there is and wondering if I'm going to need to purchase new clothes before I walk out the door. I don't get why my hormones can shift so quickly that one minute I'm angry beyond all understanding and the next crying. What is it in these hormones that makes s'mores Pop Tarts look so darn good today and the Tortilla Chips covered in salt so appealing the next??

The hot flash probably lasted about 3 minutes. My hair was soaked, my stress activated deodorant got a work out and my cart suddenly was filled with chocolate, though I had successfully passed those aisles earlier without those items. My heat addled brain took over long enough for a detour back to those aisles. The iced mocha purchased on the way out the door began the cool down...I did successfully pass up the food court breadsticks...winning!!...and I was out the door to my car where the engine went on and the AC went up to MAX.

I'm just in peri-menopause. I've heard it gets worse. I may not make it through without buying a portable AC. I've seen them on TV. They are small and look like they travel well. The people on TV even use them outside. For now, I'll make do with the cards in the card aisle, the fan on a keychain that was in my stocking at Christmas...though the blades run backwards and the air goes towards my fingers not my face...or whatever item that happens to be around for me to fan myself at any given moment.

So if you see me out and about and my face is red, my hair is sticking to the side of my head and I look one step away from finding a tub of ice water to dunk myself in, just hand over the chocolate and a fan. I'll be okay in 3 - 5 minutes. It's just "the change".

A post about 2:30am wake ups

I woke up at 2:30 this morning.  Wide awake and hot.  I kicked all the covers off and maneuvered the blinds enough so that cool air began to flow into the room.  Within 15 minutes I was pulling the sheet and light blanket back up...but I was still awake.

And so I started to think about all the things that I had done the day before.  One of my team had called in sick, another was on vacation and I was filling in at a desk that moves pretty quickly.  I'm getting better at order entry, better at credit returns and all the other little things that go along with the job but I'm not up-to-par on the knowledge that resides only in the brain of the person who works at that desk day in and day out.  It was a stressful day.

People ask how my new job is going and the truth of it all is that I'm glad that I made the change but I'm not ready to say that this is the job I will have for the rest of my working career.  I like being in an office with other people.  I appreciate the interaction.  I just don't feel settled and so the jury is out.  Some days I just get anxious.

When I woke up at 2:30 this morning, all these things wandered through my head.  I let them wander through, as I scrolled through Amazon looking for a cupcake carrier to add to my wish list, with Frasier playing on the TV in the background.  I let the fears, the hopes, the anxiousness, the uneasiness, the unknown wander through my head and settle where it was going to settle.  Eventually I turned off the TV, rolled over and went back to sleep, my thoughts settled and my body a little cooler.  I could have fought those thoughts but instead, I let them wander through and wander out.  I allowed the emotions to play through and play out.  If I have gained any knowledge from the last 23 months, it's that life will throw curve balls and I can either allow the anxiety of those curve balls to derail me or I can step up to the base, face the emotions and allow them to play through. 

Hopefully I won't be awake at 2:30 tomorrow morning...today was a much less stressful day.  But if I am, I'll face the emotions, kick off the covers and just wait...peace and coolness will soon prevail.

How are you?

*I honestly don't know when this blog was started...probably back in August.  Finishing it tonight...just look for the "*".  That's where I pick up the story.*

"How are you doing?"

I seriously hate that question.  My standard answer is "fine" but it's mostly a lie.  Not fine is a more apt description.  Just coasting is a better description.

I had coffee with a friend a few weeks ago.  We talked about life and our mutual not-fine-ness and I wrote about it on my other blog.  Last week I happened to be driving by the coffee shop, saw his car and decided that is where I wanted to be that day.  So we had coffee again.  One of his first comments to me was, "so you know that blog post"...yeah, I know, I'm really not fine.

Friday I washed the gray out of my hair and had a 2 hour therapy session with my Friend/Hair stylist.  I went into the time knowing I wasn't fine and came out still knowing I wasn't fine but also knowing I wasn't alone in my struggles with life.  Hal-le-frickin-lu-jah.

Why am I saying any of this on blog where people can read it and then worry about my not-fine-ness?  It's not to have people tell me how to be fine, or analyze my problems or tell me they are worrying.  If I was asking for any of that, this post would be on the other blog where more people visit and tend to comment.  No, what I really need is to just say, "out loud", that I am not fine.

*I'm coasting.  I'm putting one foot in front of the other.  I go to work.  I go to work at my other job.  I go to youth group.  I go home.  I try really hard not to expect too much from other people and expect a lot of myself.  I don't hate my job but I don't love it.  I'm tired of the commute.  I'm stressed about money and Christmas and wondering who thought it was okay to have four national holidays in the span of two months (I'm blaming people who are on salary and get paid days off, not someone who gets paid by the hours worked with no paid holidays.)  I'm not fine.  I'm not awful.  I'm in between, in limbo, in a seemingly endless transition to I-don't-know-what-or-where.  I'm decidedly not fine.

But for the record, the next time anyone asks, "How are you?" my response will be, "I'm fine."

A post about blog silence

Well hello, long neglected blog.  I still do exist.  I have many things to say as well but by the time I get around to opening this window and typing, well, the day catches up with me and I lose momentum.  I bore myself with my words and that ain't good!

There may be a touch of writers block happening.  It maybe that I'm not ready to type out what my heart and brain have been stewing on lo these many months.  Simple laziness is a factor, in all honesty.  By in large, the most problematic thing for me, though, has been this nagging tiredness.  The inability to coherently follow one thought to another in this forum.

And so, there is a blog silence...

A post about change

Yesterday I went to the Post Office.  I parked my car and got out and there on the ground was a dime.  I normally would leave pennies on the ground but a dime seemed significant.  I picked it up and pocketed it.  Someday soon it will go into the soda machine at work.  This is not a post about that kind of change.

This is a post about change that happens in life.  Tonight, I stood at the sink in my purposely darkened house looking out over the neighborhood where I grew up thinking about how the neighborhood has changed.  It's Halloween. When I was a kid this neighborhood my Mom would throw a Halloween party and our friends would come over for nachos and beer...the beer was for the Dad's who would take all of us kids around the neighborhood and drive us over into other neighborhoods and over to Grandma and Boompa's and Grandma Catherine's house.  The lady across the street gave out dimes.  The people in the house down the hill gave out full size candy bars. We would walk up and down the hills, passing by all the other kids in the neighborhood and having a great time.  Tonight, as I looked out over the neighborhood I noticed that most of the homes were dark.  There aren't that many kids in the neighborhood anymore.  This change isn't good or bad, it's just different.

A couple of weeks ago, a friend got married.  I was blessed to be the officiant at the ceremony and spent some time thinking about how her life has changed in two seemingly short but kinda long years.  Some of the changes were unexpected, many of them were difficult but as I stood there looking at her on her wedding day, I knew this change was good.

I spent some time reflecting, this last weekend, over the last year of my life.  I've said goodbye to some friends, hello to new friends.  Goodbye to an old job, hello to a new job.  I've done a lot of soul searching and still feel lost.  I've felt myself slipping further and further away from what is called "Christianity" today and further away from the churches around me.  There are some changes that have been good...some changes that have been tough...some changes that were just different.

Through it all, I know that change means growth.  Change can mean the death of one thing so that something new can grow.  Change means what I've taken for granted becomes apparent and the things I fear become vividly clear.  Change means there will be times to mourn and times to rejoice.  I can fight it or embrace it or ignore it but one way or another change will happen. 

I'm looking out over the neighborhood tonight seeing a whole lotta change.

A post about Monday

I woke up in a blah-mood.

I got on the bus in a not-so-gracious mood.

I sat across from a smiling girl and her little brother on the light rail.  My mood got a little better.

I walked into work in a I-kinda-don't-want-to-be-here-but-I'll-make-the-best-of-it-mood.

I opened my emails and was BLASTED with a barrage of angry emails.

Not necessarily directed at me but angry still the same.

My mood plummeted back to not-so-gracious.

I sent out a not-so-flattering picture of my boss (at his request) to the masses.

The attention getting method worked.

One of the masses emailed back and laughter ensued.

My mood lightened again.

I have a feeling it's going to be "one of those days."

Happy Monday.  How's your mood?

A post about life these days

Someone recently made the comment to me, "I'm glad you're having the time of your life."  I sat there wondering what they were seeing in my life that I was not seeing.  I would not classify this period of time in my life as the "time of my life."  I'm not in the toughest season of life to-date but it is far from my happiest period of life.

I am busy. I have things happening but enthusiastic joy and happiness is not what I'm feeling these days.  In so many ways I wonder if I'm just letting life pass me by.  I'm wondering if maybe I missed some cue from God somewhere.  Maybe I'm waiting for God but God is waiting for me.  I can't say I'm unhappy.  I have a job, a place to live (thank you Mom and Dad), a car that works, friends and I have hope that there are many years ahead that will hold the time of my life.  Yeah, I'm not having the time of my life...at the moment.  

Another friend sat across the table from me recently and said "I want you to find time for some fun in your life."  I smiled and was grateful for a friend who reads between the lines and cares enough to challenge me.  Tomorrow I am going to the Zoo with two of my favorite guys (ages 7 & 5) and the fabulous, fantastic R-girl.  Fun is on the menu.  We will buy a zoo key, laugh at the gorillas, watch the lemurs antics (and probably sing "I like to move it, move it) and hope the grizzlies are playing in the water.  We might ride the train and maybe listen to the lions roar and yes, we will have fun!