I went to a funeral for a colleague this morning. We both taught ESL at the library. I'd replaced her two and a half years ago when she decided she wanted to cut back on her hours. She ended up returning to the position after my aml diagnosis. Her name was Sharon. She was diagnosed with a cancerous brain tumor around the time of my transplant. We were both treated at Dana-Farber.
Sharon had one final lesson for us today, relayed through the priest who officiated at her funeral mass. Most of us who've looked death squarely in the eye understand what Sharon wanted us to take away from the sermon: live for today. Don't cram so much into your daily schedule that you fail to experience what truly matters. Get off the treadmill. Take time to listen to birdsong while sipping coffee in a garden with an old friend, talking about old times. Live in the now.
The priest made a reference to a song that illustrated Sharon's message, that communicated what she wanted us to take away from her life's end. He assured us that neither he nor Sharon had been hippies, but that they had been teenagers during the Woodstock era. He didn't mention that the tune was by Crosby, Stills & Nash, but I recognized the lyrics he quoted. They were from the song "Woodstock," whose chorus urges us to heed Sharon's wise advice.
We are stardust, we are golden
We are ten billion year old carbon
And we got to get ourselves back to the garden
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
"I was only waiting for this moment to be free"
Just got back from a 3-day trip to visit friends in Pennsylvania who have a house on a lake. This was our first trip since my transplant, and it was not what the doctor ordered. My transplant doc is fairly conservative, and although I generally hang on his every word, I'm beginning to chafe at many of the restrictions I've lived under for nearly 11 months.
Here are some of the no-no's of my mini-vacation:
contact with children
sun
a martini
dinner with 10 people
eating slightly underdone steak
In my defense, I'll assure you that I obsessively and scrupulously applied sunscreen, as well as hand sanitizer. I did not have close contact with the children in question, my nephews ages 2 and 4. They appeared quite healthy, and we were mostly outside. I have no explanation for the martini (which was delicious), and all I can say about the steak was that it was much better than the gray stuff I've been gnawing on.
Counter-balancing these forays into medically questionable territory, I:
jogged a total of 7 miles
biked 5 miles
slept late
relaxed
ate well
laughed
socialized with family and friends
forgot about cancer
I appear unscathed, although I had a very realistic dream last night in which I was tormented by a sore throat and hacking cough.
Next time I'll fly a little further from the nest.
Here are some of the no-no's of my mini-vacation:
contact with children
sun
a martini
dinner with 10 people
eating slightly underdone steak
In my defense, I'll assure you that I obsessively and scrupulously applied sunscreen, as well as hand sanitizer. I did not have close contact with the children in question, my nephews ages 2 and 4. They appeared quite healthy, and we were mostly outside. I have no explanation for the martini (which was delicious), and all I can say about the steak was that it was much better than the gray stuff I've been gnawing on.
Counter-balancing these forays into medically questionable territory, I:
jogged a total of 7 miles
biked 5 miles
slept late
relaxed
ate well
laughed
socialized with family and friends
forgot about cancer
I appear unscathed, although I had a very realistic dream last night in which I was tormented by a sore throat and hacking cough.
Next time I'll fly a little further from the nest.
Friday, July 25, 2008
She's Gotta Have It
Perhaps I should begin with the Serenity Prayer. The events of the past two days have been sobering: I am an Internetoholic. On Wednesday, powerful thunderstorms streaked through Rhode Island unleashing the usual host of biblical plagues, along with some thoroughly modern retributions such as power loss.
We only lost power for a half an hour or so. As one dog cowered in the garage, and the other hid in my closet, I was feeling in control. I was still in emergency preparation mode due to our recent dry spell. (See Water Woes) Re-filled containers of water stood ready and waiting; we’d stocked up on Poland Spring. The power blinked on and off for awhile but returned full force before dinner. Just as we finished eating, a thunderstorm raced through the area. I counted six seconds between flash and clash, mostly just for fun. The very next bolt struck somewhere in the woods out back. Awesome. Power dimmed, surged, dimmed, surged. We lost internet connection and the TV flicked off.
We’d gone two whole days without having to repair something in the house. Over the last six weeks, the air conditioning, toaster oven, refrigerator and water pump have died. Water has streamed forth from the ceiling. I’ve maintained my equanimity throughout the inconveniences and the repair bills. But yesterday when I woke up and found that the Internet was still down, my morning routine derailed, I felt a wee bit desperate. I called our cable company and spoke to a technician, BEFORE my first cup o’ jo. An hour of troubleshooting revealed that the modem was dead, no doubt zapped by the many power surges we’d experienced. The thought of a day without email, blogging, visiting and posting on various sites gave me a mild case of the DT’s. Until the modem meltdown, I’d never heard of an ethernet cable. I suddenly wanted to plug it into my veins.
I went to Best Buy and scored a new modem. I’ll spare you the ugly details about the installation, other to say that with the help of an extremely patient telephone technician named Jimmy, I somehow managed to restore Internet connection. When The New York Times appeared in my browser I nearly wept. I’m pretty sure Jimmy was pretty close to tears himself.
I don’t spend that much time online, I swear, but I guess I have a problem. Much like my morning coffee, I’ve gotta have it. Be honest, dear readers. Ask yourselves: how many blogs do you have bookmarked? How many websites do you frequent each day? Can you spend a day or two or three unplugged?
I didn’t think so.
We only lost power for a half an hour or so. As one dog cowered in the garage, and the other hid in my closet, I was feeling in control. I was still in emergency preparation mode due to our recent dry spell. (See Water Woes) Re-filled containers of water stood ready and waiting; we’d stocked up on Poland Spring. The power blinked on and off for awhile but returned full force before dinner. Just as we finished eating, a thunderstorm raced through the area. I counted six seconds between flash and clash, mostly just for fun. The very next bolt struck somewhere in the woods out back. Awesome. Power dimmed, surged, dimmed, surged. We lost internet connection and the TV flicked off.
We’d gone two whole days without having to repair something in the house. Over the last six weeks, the air conditioning, toaster oven, refrigerator and water pump have died. Water has streamed forth from the ceiling. I’ve maintained my equanimity throughout the inconveniences and the repair bills. But yesterday when I woke up and found that the Internet was still down, my morning routine derailed, I felt a wee bit desperate. I called our cable company and spoke to a technician, BEFORE my first cup o’ jo. An hour of troubleshooting revealed that the modem was dead, no doubt zapped by the many power surges we’d experienced. The thought of a day without email, blogging, visiting and posting on various sites gave me a mild case of the DT’s. Until the modem meltdown, I’d never heard of an ethernet cable. I suddenly wanted to plug it into my veins.
I went to Best Buy and scored a new modem. I’ll spare you the ugly details about the installation, other to say that with the help of an extremely patient telephone technician named Jimmy, I somehow managed to restore Internet connection. When The New York Times appeared in my browser I nearly wept. I’m pretty sure Jimmy was pretty close to tears himself.
I don’t spend that much time online, I swear, but I guess I have a problem. Much like my morning coffee, I’ve gotta have it. Be honest, dear readers. Ask yourselves: how many blogs do you have bookmarked? How many websites do you frequent each day? Can you spend a day or two or three unplugged?
I didn’t think so.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Water Woes
When we lived in Costa Rica, we became accustomed to the sudden loss of power, phone service or water. Losing water was the worst, but we learned to adapt to this fact of third world life. Last week we had water dripping from the ceiling in our family room; this weekend, we had no water dripping anywhere.
Fortunately, I retain the ability to remain stoic in face of these types of crises. It wasn't always that way. Before we moved to tropical paradise, I took many things for granted, including the constant flow of water from my tap. Costa Rica taught me how to go with the flow, so to speak. We placed flashlights all over the house. We had more candles than a hippie hideaway, and a stock of 5 gallon water jugs. It didn't hurt that we had a swimming pool. Cold bath anyone? Maybe it was the earthquakes that helped put power and water loss into the "no biggie" category. Certainly, a simpler lifestyle focused on family and friends gave us a different perspective on life.
One difference between Costa Rica and the good ol' USA is that when you have a problem here, you make a phone call and help is on the way. When I woke up Monday morning, I sprung into girl scout mode. With the next door neighbors' permission, I hooked up my garden hose to theirs and had water right outside my garage. We filled up buckets for toilet flushing and dish washing. We pulled out the emergency gallons of drinking water I had stored in the cupboard. The well company, which we'd called Sunday night, sent a guy over by 9:30 am. I was afraid our well had run dry, so I was greatly relieved when the technician performed a special test to gauge the water depth. He opened the well cap and dropped a pebble into the opening. Two mississippis later, he assured me the water level was at 50 feet, right where it should be. All we needed was a new pump.
Long story short, we had water flowing through our thirsty pipes before noon. I'd barely tapped into the emergency system I'd prepared. We were $1700 dollars poorer, but that seemed like a small price to pay for a shower. Costa Rican experience aside, I know there are far worse problems to face than a day without water, or even a failed well for that matter. In the scheme of things, it was a minor irritant. Living in the USA protects most of us from so many harsh realities that we become softies. We forget that there are people all over the world who don't have indoor plumbing or potable water. We get steamed if the cable cuts out or our cell phone dies. We drink at the fount of Starbucks and drown in a sea of consumption. Holy moly, I'm starting to sound downright Hobbesean. It's possible I've been reading too many church billboards.
Bottom line is, we forget what's important. My husband and I were talking about this last night in light of the spate of systems/appliance breakdowns we've had in our house this summer. My illness has tested us in ways that make most problems easily and happily managed. I'm fortunate to have access to topnotch medical care, and to be adequately insured. My family is healthy and thriving.
Battle-tested, we march forth.
Fortunately, I retain the ability to remain stoic in face of these types of crises. It wasn't always that way. Before we moved to tropical paradise, I took many things for granted, including the constant flow of water from my tap. Costa Rica taught me how to go with the flow, so to speak. We placed flashlights all over the house. We had more candles than a hippie hideaway, and a stock of 5 gallon water jugs. It didn't hurt that we had a swimming pool. Cold bath anyone? Maybe it was the earthquakes that helped put power and water loss into the "no biggie" category. Certainly, a simpler lifestyle focused on family and friends gave us a different perspective on life.
One difference between Costa Rica and the good ol' USA is that when you have a problem here, you make a phone call and help is on the way. When I woke up Monday morning, I sprung into girl scout mode. With the next door neighbors' permission, I hooked up my garden hose to theirs and had water right outside my garage. We filled up buckets for toilet flushing and dish washing. We pulled out the emergency gallons of drinking water I had stored in the cupboard. The well company, which we'd called Sunday night, sent a guy over by 9:30 am. I was afraid our well had run dry, so I was greatly relieved when the technician performed a special test to gauge the water depth. He opened the well cap and dropped a pebble into the opening. Two mississippis later, he assured me the water level was at 50 feet, right where it should be. All we needed was a new pump.
Long story short, we had water flowing through our thirsty pipes before noon. I'd barely tapped into the emergency system I'd prepared. We were $1700 dollars poorer, but that seemed like a small price to pay for a shower. Costa Rican experience aside, I know there are far worse problems to face than a day without water, or even a failed well for that matter. In the scheme of things, it was a minor irritant. Living in the USA protects most of us from so many harsh realities that we become softies. We forget that there are people all over the world who don't have indoor plumbing or potable water. We get steamed if the cable cuts out or our cell phone dies. We drink at the fount of Starbucks and drown in a sea of consumption. Holy moly, I'm starting to sound downright Hobbesean. It's possible I've been reading too many church billboards.
Bottom line is, we forget what's important. My husband and I were talking about this last night in light of the spate of systems/appliance breakdowns we've had in our house this summer. My illness has tested us in ways that make most problems easily and happily managed. I'm fortunate to have access to topnotch medical care, and to be adequately insured. My family is healthy and thriving.
Battle-tested, we march forth.
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Biathaloning
I'm always looking for food for thought, especially when I'm running. One day last week while I was jogging on my street, I noticed a sign on a tree that read "Whomever took my hanging basket, please return it." Hmm. Whomever. Shouldn't it be Whoever? What's the object of this sentence? Is it the alleged thief or the basket? This took me to the end of my street, which is where I turned around to head back home. Hmm. If I were making a sign to hang on a tree, would I have used whomever? Whomever absconded with my pendulous tuber vessel, would you please be so kind as to transport said treasure back to its lawful owner. Hey, gimme back my plant you ****. Generous reward offered for the return of my beloved Impatiens. In the midst of my grammatical reverie, I glimpsed a strange object just off to the side of the road. A hanging basket filled with wilted impatiens! I could do a good deed by telling my neighbor where to find her purloined plant. Wait a minute, I could be a hero and return the plant myself.
Readers, it's not so easy to run with a plant. Did that stop me? Naw. I spent the next half mile shifting the poor drooper from one hand to the other. I must have looked fairly odd to passing motorists, but I got a terrific upper body workout. You have to try it sometime.
My neighbor, who was outside watering her remaining plants when I called out to ask if what I'd lugged down the street was her missing hanging basket asked, where was it? Oh, by the side of the road, not too far. Must have been some kids. A bit stunned (and wouldn't you be?) the woman thanked me and hung the basket back on the tree, ripping off the thought-provoking sign.
Whoever's reading this post: may grammatical questions fuel your next run. Whatever.
Readers, it's not so easy to run with a plant. Did that stop me? Naw. I spent the next half mile shifting the poor drooper from one hand to the other. I must have looked fairly odd to passing motorists, but I got a terrific upper body workout. You have to try it sometime.
My neighbor, who was outside watering her remaining plants when I called out to ask if what I'd lugged down the street was her missing hanging basket asked, where was it? Oh, by the side of the road, not too far. Must have been some kids. A bit stunned (and wouldn't you be?) the woman thanked me and hung the basket back on the tree, ripping off the thought-provoking sign.
Whoever's reading this post: may grammatical questions fuel your next run. Whatever.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Breakfast of Champions
You're probably thinking Wheaties. It was better than Wheaties. Marty and I drove to a remote section of Rhode Island this morning to mark the 20th anniversary of LLS's Team In Training. Remote in the sense that we had no idea where we were, and it seemed a bit--how shall I put this?--Faulknerian. Maybe it was the weather (hazy, hot & humid), or the tired-looking buildings, but we felt we'd entered a time & space warp. All the breakfast guests were TNT alumni. We'd been invited because (1) my son ran a TNT marathon last year, (2) my daughter is interning at the local Leukemia & Lymphoma Society Office and helped plan the event, and (3) I'm a former honored patient.
I had a chance to catch up with some TNT folks I haven't seen in a long time. Their current honored patient is a Lymphoma survivor who has participated in a number of TNT biking fundraisers. He spoke eloquently to the rapt crowd about his illness, touching on the special hell which cancer patients (and their loved ones) inhabit while waiting to hear test results. I introduced myself to this man at the end of the speeches and told him I was a fellow survivor. Turns out he too had had a transplant at Dana-Farber, some four years ago. A year ago, feeling terrific, he discovered he'd relapsed. After completing a TNT Century Ride (that's 100 miles on a bike), he once again entered treatment. His latest scans prove him to be in complete remission.
The breakfast was yummy; the champions, superb.
I had a chance to catch up with some TNT folks I haven't seen in a long time. Their current honored patient is a Lymphoma survivor who has participated in a number of TNT biking fundraisers. He spoke eloquently to the rapt crowd about his illness, touching on the special hell which cancer patients (and their loved ones) inhabit while waiting to hear test results. I introduced myself to this man at the end of the speeches and told him I was a fellow survivor. Turns out he too had had a transplant at Dana-Farber, some four years ago. A year ago, feeling terrific, he discovered he'd relapsed. After completing a TNT Century Ride (that's 100 miles on a bike), he once again entered treatment. His latest scans prove him to be in complete remission.
The breakfast was yummy; the champions, superb.
Thursday, July 17, 2008
The Politics of Fear
This is not about this week's New Yorker cover. Enough has been spewed about that. This is about the politics of fear in Rhode Island, the smallest state with arguably the smallest minds. Maybe you've seen our governor moaning about illegal immigration on Fox News broadcasts. He's made it his mission to prevent these abominable creatures from robbing us blind. Rhode Island is going down in flames, but don't worry, at least we'll get rid of those illegals.
Yesterday, there was a "police action" (not to be confused with a "raid") that netted 30 some-odd alleged illegal workers at six courthouses around the state. While mothers from Guatemala scrubbed toilets, 50 ICE agents and 12 state troopers swooped in and bravely relieved them of their toilet brushes. Pardonnez moi, but shit happens. I don't even want to think what this courageous action cost, and I shudder to imagine what the sanitation facilities at our palaces of justice smell like. Who wants to clean toilets in the middle of the night? No Rhode Islanders I know.
Did I mention that the companies who employ these evil doers face no criminal charges? How were they supposed to know that the workers' ID's were allegedly fake? You'll be relieved to hear that 12 of the 30 were set free (wearing ankle bracelets) for "humanitarian reasons." The State didn't have the heart to see all those children placed in foster care while their moms are rotting in jail. Now, the reunited families can all starve together while awaiting a hearing and possible jail time. Ultimately, these bad mothers may be deported, but not before it costs a lot of dough, not to mention horrendous jury duty conditions for the patriotic people of Rhode Island.
I try to stay away from politics in this blog, but this just makes my blood boil. I have enough trouble with my blood.
Yesterday, there was a "police action" (not to be confused with a "raid") that netted 30 some-odd alleged illegal workers at six courthouses around the state. While mothers from Guatemala scrubbed toilets, 50 ICE agents and 12 state troopers swooped in and bravely relieved them of their toilet brushes. Pardonnez moi, but shit happens. I don't even want to think what this courageous action cost, and I shudder to imagine what the sanitation facilities at our palaces of justice smell like. Who wants to clean toilets in the middle of the night? No Rhode Islanders I know.
Did I mention that the companies who employ these evil doers face no criminal charges? How were they supposed to know that the workers' ID's were allegedly fake? You'll be relieved to hear that 12 of the 30 were set free (wearing ankle bracelets) for "humanitarian reasons." The State didn't have the heart to see all those children placed in foster care while their moms are rotting in jail. Now, the reunited families can all starve together while awaiting a hearing and possible jail time. Ultimately, these bad mothers may be deported, but not before it costs a lot of dough, not to mention horrendous jury duty conditions for the patriotic people of Rhode Island.
I try to stay away from politics in this blog, but this just makes my blood boil. I have enough trouble with my blood.
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