Add new tag
The Three Doors
Thursday, July 15th, 2010 | Blogging, Cancer Survivor, Uncategorized | 1 Comment
I am taking a journaling class coordianated by the Shephard Cancer Center here in Washington. It has been an AWESOME experience. We’re a small group that’s grown very close in a short time. Funny how cancer survivors can do that! We’ve had a bit of a hiatus from each other, with our last meeting in May and our next one this week. Our wonderful teacher, leader, and guide gave us a fascinating assignment. We are to draw three doors and write about them. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks and just now written down my thoughts on paper to share. Although I’m unable to show you the doors I’ve drawn, I hope you’ll get an image from reading about them. I was surprised by what I wrote, some of it comfortable, some of it dark and deep, and some of it enlightening. I hope it will do the same for you as you read it.
A prologue:
I find the assignment of drawing and writing about three doors an intriguing one. Often when I was younger I dreamt of being in a long hall full of doors. I would try to open the doors, but often was just left trapped in the hall, with its glossy wooden floors. On rare occasions in my dreams, I could open a door. It would always lead me inside the kitchen of an unknown, yet familiar house. I would go to the cabinet doors and know exactly where the glasses and dishes were kept. It felt eerie, yet comfortable to be there in my dreams.
The first door
The first door is obviously an old one. It’s massive structure acting as a fortress to protect the character and integrity of the old house that lies beyond its entry. It’s the door to the house where I now live. After years of admiring old houses and longing for one, I finally live in one that brings me serenity and complete comfort. I am simply in love with my old house—everything about it! I love the fact that it’s an Arts and Crafts bungalow that was a Sears kit house. I can just see the kit contents arriving on the railroad right beyond my front door. I can see the worker leaving his Prince Albert can of tobacco behind the cedar siding on the south side and boarding it up for us to find later. I feel as if I know the four generations of the Bowen family that built the house and lived in it for almost a three-quarters of a century. Often when I open the front door I can see Mr. Walter’s coat hanging on the coat knob to the right of the entry. I think about Ms. Hilda standing over the old wood fired stove in the kitchen making a batch of her son Bo’s favorite dish, creamed corn. I love the story of when Bo’s new bride tried to make the corn for Bo and Ms. Hilda would not have it! She made a competing batch and that was the last straw that convinced Bo’s wife that it was time to move out from under his mother’s roof. Sometimes things go missing in my kitchen, and are found in the most unlikely of places. I think it’s Ms Hilda just stirring up a little trouble for me in her own kitchen. I think about the old love letter from Mr. Walter to Ms. Hilda that we found at the bottom of the built in chest of drawers as we made room for a utility closet. How serendipitous that the wooden runners of its drawers were the missing boards from the kitchen floor that we needed. The wood grain and lengths matched exactly. As I sit in our front upstairs office that overlooks Havens Garden and the Pamlico River, I know that this was young Bo’s bedroom. I know that Ms. Hilda wanted to have loads of children, but could only have Bo. I know that the “secret” rooms that are unfinished in the four outside corners of the upstairs were planned to be the children’s bedrooms that never came to pass. I adore the tall baseboards and wide craftsman trim around the doors. I could never part with the wavy old glass in the windows despite their winter and summer inefficiency. I sleep well here despite the moans and groans that an old house sighs at night. When I come home and close the front door behind me, I feel totally and completely at peace.
The second door
The second door is actually a set of doors. They swing both ways with directional signs for in and out. They are brushed stainless steel with small portholes near the top of each one. They are cold, clean, and sterile, completely void of fingerprints as if no human interaction exists between the doors and the people that enter them. Perhaps this is due to the gloved hands that push the doors apart and make way for the gurney. It is here at the doors that we always pause and say our goodbyes to our family who will be waiting for us when we wake up from the surgical sleep that is about to be forced upon us. It is here that we be sure to say our “I love you’s” and squeeze each other’s hands. It is here that uncertainty hangs heavy in the air. Here all moments in the past are clearly defined and the here and now seems fuzzy. The future teeters on the outcome of the procedures that occur behind the doors. And yet somehow I always wake up knowing what has transpired. As if I’ve fooled them all along, and really been wide-awake watching and feeling everything.
The third door
The third door isn’t a door at all. It’s a portal of light that emits understanding and peace. All the mysteries of the universe are answered beyond this door. There is no pain, no suffering, no worry, no hate, no war, no cancer. All things pure and good glow from behind the portal. I’m not sure that I am worthy to enter. It beckons to me—I long to enter and yet I long to stay on this side.
An Inconvenience
Monday, November 17th, 2008 | Cancer Survivor | 1 Comment
Well, it’s been a long time since I’ve blogged. I looked back on my last entry and could not believe that my last entry was September. I realized that I really left everyone riding the crazy roller coaster. Not good. I’m sorry about that. I guess that it was just too raw to write that I found out that I have breast cancer, after being a seven year survivor of fallopian tube cancer, and am a BRCA 1 gene mutant. I think that being a Ninja turtle mutant would be better. At least then, I could wear a crazy costume and be a hero. But, I have to deal with the cards (or make that the genes) I was dealt. In a strange, weird way, finding out about the BRCA 1 gene mutation made me feel better. I always wondered what I did to get cancer (now two cancers). I wondered if it was where I lived or how I ate or drank. But, I’ve always had a healthy lifestyle, so that did not make sense. So, a small inside voice kept telling me that it was because I was a perfectionist and always had to do everything 150%. I thought it was because my closet was color coded and all my pantry items labeled. Of course, finding out about my bad genetic code, made me worry more for my son (and sibilings) who now has a 50/50 chance of being BRCA1 positive too and all the implications that it has for him. The counselors tell me that this genetic stuff can be very tricky. Parents feel guilty, siblings without it feel guilty. Insurance companies don’t want to cover you, which is now against the law—but you know how that goes.
I’m just glad to now have two needle biopsies, a needle location, and a lumpectomy behind me. We’re still waiting on a clear margin from the lumpectomy biopsy, so we can move forward to radiation and tamoxifen. I was disappointed that I didn’t get my anticipated Dixie cup during the needle location. During needle location, prior to surgery, they insert a long wire into the breast for the surgeon to follow when operating. This wire extends to the outside and is usually covered by a Dixie cup for protection until surgery. My wire was lying against my chest, so I didn’t need the Dixie cup. Gosh, too bad, I was sort of looking forward to the Madonna jokes! All things considered, the surgery was the easiest of the past five that I’ve had in seven years since my first diagnosis in 2001. As usual, I was awake as they rolled me into the operating room. It seems it takes a while for me to succumb to anesthesia. I was chatting with the nurses when the lights went out. I woke up, bright eyed and bushy-tailed, as my father would say, and started cracking jokes about my leg wraps (to prevent blood clots) that looked like the Michelin tire guy. That was it for the nurses. They said it was time to move me to the next level. See where a little sense of humor will get you—right out of the recovery room to the “Step Down” area. That’s where you get to see your family and drink ginger ale. Ah-h eureka!
So, we’re praying for a clear margin so we won’t have to travel another five hours to Charlotte, to do this all over again. I told my surgeon to be sure and get it all because I planned on doing Thanksgiving as usual with my family and to get my house ready for the Christmas tour on December 6th. She looked at me as if I were crazy. I replied to that by telling her that cancer is just an inconvenience. I like to think that is the case. It makes it easier to cope.
Hanna is History
Monday, September 8th, 2008 | Cancer Survivor, Hurricanes | 1 Comment
Well, I didn’t make it to blogging this weekend—too much adrenaline flowing on Saturday because of Tropical Storm Hanna, and then too much exhaustion on Sunday from all the adrenaline rush on Saturday.
Well, now Hanna is history. Hubby woke up around 4 am on Saturday morning to go into work at city hall. His techno cohort had already spent the night at the Emergency Command Center, aka Fire Station #2. I went back to sleep and awoke around 6:30—peeking out the upstairs bedroom window to get a glimpse at the river. I could tell there was water in the street by the refection off of the street lamp. Hannah did about the same amount of harm that Ophelia did here in 2005. She breached the banks of the Pamlico at Havens Garden and down on Stewart Parkway. She crossed the railroad track at Havens, covered East Main Street, and proceeded slowly but surely up Simmons Street where we live. She only made it to our bottom steps before the wind turned and she receded. I entertained myself by taking pictures and video and sending them to Skip, the weather guy, at Channel 12. Channel 12 was reporting from the waterfront, though, and was pretty busy reporting on boats that were dragging anchor. I don’t think my pics or video made the cut—oh well.
Saturday afternoon, we went for a walk along the train track just to see what the tide drug in. Found two nice pieces of driftwood to add to the front porch collection. I was reaching for a third large piece when I stepped into a bed of ants. With the neuropathy that I have in my feet from so much Taxol (chemo) it took awhile for me to realize that they were feasting on both my feet. I’m sure it looked like I was dancing some wild dance to the hurricane gods on the train track! I nursed my wounds with Epsom salt, rubbing alcohol, and Sting-Eze. Hubby suggested I take two Benadryl, just in case. I think he just wanted some peace and quiet for the ECU game, which was so exciting that I stayed awake until the fourth quarter. Go Pirates!
Sunday was a quiet day, starting out with early church, brunch at the Meeting Place (yum!), and reading the Sunday paper. Then, I became painfully bored and asked to get out of the house. So, we drove to Terra Ceia. We’d read about the Dutch settlers there growing bulbs around the turn of the century. There is sure a lot of open space out there. Seems you can see from horizon to horizon. Saw some flower fields and lots of Dutch style barns. Picked up the boat from Hal and Garlene—we’d stashed it there during the storm. Then back to Simmons Street to watch the Panthers game. Which turned out to be a great ending! Looks like Jake is back!
Today we’re faced with yard cleanup (which I refused to do on Sunday), and moving all the furniture back which includes 8 chairs, 4 tables, 1 chandelier, 1 crab,1 citronella candle, 2 watering cans, 3 flower pots w/flowers, various pillows and cushions, and 1 piece—make that 3 pieces of driftwood.. And that’s just the front porch. I’ve decided I might as well give the front porch a good scrubbing before moving everything back. Seems like déjà vu back to my childhood when my job was to scrub the carport (yes, the carport) about once a month with a Stanley scrub brush on a handle and Tide detergent. At least, it isn’t January!
Called about my needle biopsy today and found out that the report was still not complete. Should be by noon today, but the doctor, who did the biopsy, is out all week. I told them there was no way that I could wait another week to find out about this. I asked them to just fax the results to Amy at WFM—I’d rather hear the news from her, anyway, whether good or bad, than some doctor I don’t know. So, here I am, still in limbo. Riding in the front car of the roller coaster that is stopped at the top of a steep hill, holding my breath, and hanging on for dear life. Literally and figuratively. Ready to move forward and trying not to look back.
Until tomorrow,
De Ja Vu
Hurricane Virgins–No More!
Friday, September 5th, 2008 | Hurricanes | No Comments
I apologize for a late blog today. It has been a busy one preparing for Hurricane Hanna. She is expected to come through the Hwy. 17 corridor and cross the Pamlico River during the night tonight. It seems oncoming catastrophes always create dilemmas. My dilemma this time is where to spend the night tonight. Should I go to City Hall with my hubby who has to be there? Or should I stay at home through the storm with the Kit Kat (our precious kitty)? If I choose to go to City Hall, KK will have to spend her time there in a cage while I sleep on a cot and contemplate the ghosts of post offices past. You see the City Hall was once a federal post office and courthouse—think of all the possible ghosts just waiting to ride out of town on a hurricane! Instead of going postal, they could get out of town forever by going coastal! I can just see those postal ghosts now, toasting in the Caribbean sand with their gray Bermuda shorts. Of course, I won’t be worried about the ones that are leaving when I sleep in the spooky old place, I’ll be worried about the ones that stayed! I believe I’ll take my chances in our 1924 bungalow this time.
Well, it is true—we’re no longer hurricane virgins. Our first experience happened three years ago when Ophelia tried to break our hearts (do you know that song?) as she blew through Washington. We had just renovated our aforementioned bungalow, when the firemen knocked on the door with a mandatory evacuation notice. That was a shocker—especially since my hubby worked at City Hall! I wasn’t too worried until a short time later our neighbor across the street began moving all of her furniture out of the house and loaded onto what looked like a moving van. That’s when we got creative about how high you can get a new couch off of the floor. It was amazing how high you really can stack furniture without everything tumbling down like building blocks stacked too tall. We did such a good job, I took pics of it all—because I knew I’d never remember how we did it the next time. We survived with no major damage—mostly duct tape residue on the window frames. The next year Ernesto came our way, with more water than Ophelia—but no evacuation order, thank goodness. We actually ventured out on the front porch during the blow and videotaped footage that was posted on a local news website. The funniest thing that happened during Ernesto was a pontoon boat floated ashore and was beached on the railroad track at Havens Garden in front of our house. The automated signals interpreted the pontoon boat to be an oncoming train, which started the signal lights and lowered the crossing guard. It stayed that way until about ten local guys lifted the boat off the track a few hours later.
So, we are ready this time. We’ve moved all of the furniture from the front porch and the Tiki Hut in the back yard. (You’re probably thinking that anyone with a Tiki Hut in their back yard is asking for it from a hurricane!) We moved the boat, fueled the cars, charged the batteries, filled up the bathtub, bought bread and milk that we didn’t need, and ate all the leftovers in the fridge for supper. Of course, since we are ready—nothing will really come of it—we hope.
I’ll take some notes tonight and give you a blow by blow tomorrow.
Until then, good night from De Ja Vu and I promise not to be so word clever tomorrow.
First Day of the Rest of Your Life–and Mine
Tuesday, September 2nd, 2008 | Adult Children, Cancer Survivor, Life List, Retirement, Students, Teachers, Uncategorized | 6 Comments
Here I am, Day One of my retirement, first time blogger, and this nostalgic title from the seventies (or is it the eighties?) keeps popping into my head. Everything I research says a blog should have a focus—I’m struggling with that one.
Should I reach out to other cancer survivors like me? I know that I want to that—in a meaningful, funny, inspiring kind of way—words you don’t usually think of when you hear the C word. Could be a hard task, eh? How about all those teachers, like me, out there, who have retired and are going through an identity crisis?—I mean after all, I have been going to school since I was six years old. Then again—No Rules seems like a good topic. Yippee—out of school– no more rules! Hey, school and rules are common experiences for most of us. Even teachers who aren’t retired might be interested in some Old School wisdom. Maybe my focus should be on my Life List (a more positive title than the Bucket List)—but, does anybody else really care what I want to do with the rest of my life—who knows? I would sure like to know about the Life List of others—just to make sure I’m not leaving something out! Last Lessons could be a focus—a bit like the Last Lecture—after all, I’m teacher, too—oops—there’s that identity crisis—I was a teacher. I could focus on being the mom of an adult child and all the lessons I continue to learn from that role—-mostly that you always continue to worry about them, no matter how well they are doing.
So here, goes…some pearls of wisdom (make that plastic beads of insight) about the above.
C Club (count yourself lucky if you don’t know what that means)
On the first day of my retirement, today, I’m off to the doctor for a needle breast biopsy—not exactly my idea of my first day of fun! Not unless you consider table vises and needles as comfort companions. I had no idea it would be so darn complicated. Now I get to wait until Friday before I call to make an APPOINTMENT to find out my results. Seems like the new medical protocol is that you don’t give biopsy results over the phone. So much for the saying that No News is Good News!
No Rules
Since I had to go to the doctor at a specified time for a needle biopsy today—I don’t get to fully experience No Rules until tomorrow. I’m looking forward to No Alarm Clock in the morning –and gee I can wear whatever I want—NO Dress Code! Can’t wait to think daily of the rules I no longer must abide by.
Old School Wisdom
Try this experiment—teachers—I did it for years. Say Good Morning tomorrow to everyone you meet walking into your building and to your classroom. It’s a great thermometer for the day—what were fellow colleagues responses? I also counted the high school student responses—even a nod counts. More tomorrow on the Good Morning thermometer scale.
Life List #1
A friend once walked onto my porch and said to me—“If I had the view of the river that you have from this porch, I’d drink coffee and eat breakfast here everyday”. So number one my Life List—stop to smell the roses, especially if the roses grown in your own yard—enjoy what you have and take advantage of it—everyday. Today I sat in the swing, looked at the wide Pamlico, while I talked with my mom who lives five hours away. And I plan to sip a little wine from there this evening.
Last Lessons
Never give up on someone that you care about—even if they are not living up to their potential. Reach out and help them to reach their potential. It is easier for you to see their potential than it is for them to see it for themselves. It is your responsibility to help them hold up the mirror and look at themselves in a more positive light.
Mom Mode
Learn to laugh when they have you pegged. My son, on a visit this weekend, commented that I dress the way I decorate. It sounds ludicrous, but it’s true. My latest greatest favorite color in my house is teal. Even my front door is painted teal. Yes, I was wearing teal when he mentioned this. So, now I’m dressing to match my front door!&*~!
Until tomorrow,
De Ja Vu