Inspiring

http://abcnews.go.com/Nightline/video/rainbow--10170062

Landslide

...Can the child within my heart rise above?
Can I sail though the changing ocean tides?
Can I handle the seasons of my life?
...time makes you bolder
Children get older
I'm getting older too" 
Landslide Fleetwood Mac

I have started writing this a number of times, only to put it aside, but a conversation with my youngest PS last night has spurred me to carry on. He has been having some spontaneous tearful episodes and anger outbursts - meltdowns - some may call them. One of his worries it turns out is that he misses my long hair, and with my grey  curly hair I don't look like Mom anymore. "Who are you?" he joked "and what have you done with my mother?"  He goes further: "you're not as nice as you used to be."

Back track a few weeks, post my mammogram: I decide to contact the Breast Nurse." Is it flotsam or jetsam?"  I asked in reference to the new cyst and the debris found within it. "should I have it drained, or will it drift off on it's own?" It will probably drift off on it's own, but you sound very flat - is everything OK? " Well I've been very tearful, and having wild mood swings.... I read that depression is a side effect of Arimidex... "I think you should see someone and soon, it has been a year and this is quite common after what you've been through."

So I make an appointment with the Kind Doctor who says that yes I seem to be depressed, which is not surprising really with the insult to my brain. Aside from the Arimidex, the brain surgery probably shocked my brain out of whack with regards to serotonin production. I am put on a low dose of a common antidepressant, and it's now 2 weeks hence.

On the good side I am no longer tearful or swinging moodily. DH says I am more ":with it" and I've noticed that my hot flushes have decreased in number and intensity and I have more stamina. Also I seem to be catching up on 21 years of sleep deprivation, and very unlike me, I find it hard to wake up in the morning! Typical of me though, I have a rare side effect of teeth clenching, which I only notice as my jaw starts to ache.... The KD instructs me to continue with the medication for 2 more weeks, and experiment with the time I take it. If things worsen or don't improve, he will consider another form of treatment.

My youngest PS is also upset because he has noticed that other people have "better lives" than we do -better holidays, better houses, better toys and more fun. We 'never do anything' and we 'have no money'. I realise that sometimes we are too careful., and I wonder why our celebration some weeks ago where we went out for pizza together and celebrated that DH was asked to stay on at work another month has been forgotten.  We had a great time that evening, laughing and sharing together! Some effort and counselling will need to be done with my little boy who is usually so sparky and lively!

I am reminded of Psalm 73
....But as for me, my feet were almost gone; my steps had well nigh slipped.
.....Thus my heart was grieved, and I was pricked in my reins. So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee. Nevertheless I am continually with thee: thou hast holden me by my right hand.
....But it is good for me to draw near to God: I have put my trust in the Lord GOD, that I may declare all thy works.

and once again, hand in hand with God, I must go forward on a rocky path, but I know the landslide won't take us down, because:

Romans :5 3-4

³And not only so, but we glory in tribulations also: knowing that tribulation worketh patience;

 ⁴And patience, experience; and experience, hope:

Contrasts

My first annual mammogram took me back to the Top Top Radiologist. Note the contrasts:

Once again I was photographed by the enormous breast clamp. The radiology nurse said breast pain reduces as you age. "How much older do I have to get exactly?" She didn't know but was quite amused. I snapped the photo while she took my pictures to the TTR for her expert opinion.

10 minutes later back she came. "We have to do an ultrasound."  Meek as a lamb I tripped along after her with my coat on , like a secret flasher.

More contrasts.

This is what I could see supine on the bed, as my right breast was painfully examined with the ultrasound device.  On screen the tissue looked greyish, and the cysts were revealed as contrasting black holes. 

The nurse kept apologising as I kept wincing with the pain. I've become a real wuss and I think my constant low level pain makes me more wussy when I experience any additional pain.

"Ooh that doesn't look too good" I say when I see a mucky looking cyst. (I can cast an opinion now that I'm an expert on breast ultrasounds.) So I wasn't surprised when 15 mins later the TTR came in to talk to me. All my old cysts are there, but smaller, she says. She restarts the ultrasound, and goes over the mucky cyst.

 "I'm a little concerned, but it does look like debris, which you're allowed to have. I'll send  the pics and report to the Breast Surgeon Supreme, and he may decide it needs to be drained. But I think it's Ok really."

It's never black and white is it?

Dear Me

"... And you don't know where you stand, and did something pass you by? And if you are dismissed, will you get another try?"  (Obsolete. Sara Groves)

After having my check up with the breast surgeon, I'm now coming up for my next mammogram. I'm not looking forward to it, and I wish they would just do an ultrasound, after all if there is anything suspicious and sinister in my left breast they will do an ultrasound, so why not just skip the boob eating monster and let me have the more gentle sonic device?

And yes, I know it is my right breast... but I seemed to have formed the habit of referring to it as my left breast because I mean the "left behind breast". Right breast now seems to mean there was a 'right' one and a 'wrong' one. Of course, this is all said in my head. I don't talk to people about my breasts, passed  (sic) or present, as really they're not interested, and rightly so. The prosthetic one does a good job of helping me front up to the world and capriciously weathered Hobart is scarf friendly, so cover up of imbalance is easy. It's really when cuddles are needed that the difference is noted.

Today the youngest PS was in heartbroken tears, having failed his sailing class. He has so enjoyed this sport, but they say he doesn't concentrate hard enough, or try consistently, so he can't move on to the next level with all his friends. Try again in a year they said.  We sobbed together in the recliner, me as at other times, shifting the cuddle position because the prosthetic breast feels wrong, and a barrier somehow. "Why are you crying Mom?"

"Because you are" I say conveniently, but really I'm crying because:

• he's hurt and I can't make it better immediately
• failure is a part of life (despite what all the facebook and other mothers will have you believe about their incredibly gifted, always successful children)
• I want him to try again next season and face up to his peers  moving on, and possibly teasing him about failing
• because he has been left behind and they will tease him and we have to equip him with strength, maturity and resilience so he can cope with it all
• I feel like a failure myself as a mother - after all my kids don't win the art prize, or get into the sports teams, (dropping the ball, and  kicking an own goal make up the list of PS's sporting achievements) or win scholarships, or school prizes; or get invited to a birthday party nearly every weekend, or even get invited for a playdate ( we do  nearly all the inviting) nor do they have any particular specialness that would provide an acceptable reason for these things
• half of my chest is flat and my DH doesn't care - yes that's nice but I wish he was at least a little bit upset and disappointed
• I want to have a few days away just me and DH, but we can't afford it and anyway, DH prefers to stay home

Dear me! the side effects of the hormonal treatment are really effective. Along with the common ones of joint pain, bone pain, breast pain, insomnia and constipation; depression is settling in like October rain in Durban. The package says to consult the doctor if depression appears. Hmm. that will have to wait.

There are other reasons for tears:

• my uncle died of lung cancer this week. He was diagnosed just before me, and our treatments overlapped, although continents apart. We will all miss that good, cheerful, simple hearted man who knew about taking pleasure in the small daily things of life.
• a respected and liked ex colleague has found new cancer in her hip and possibly liver.
• so many people are struggling financially, and with disability, extreme anxiety and even psychosis in their children; and I'm not able to help at all.
• the list could go on and on, and persist

I need to do this:

lay down my arms, give up the fight; quiet my heart for a little while. Be still and know that He is God.                                                        

A Sad Day

" And I'll be cross," I said, " if I ever have to have the other one off,  after I told you to take it off when you did the first one." "Our standard response" he said sheepishly, "in the early days in the face of the panic after diagnosis is to refuse to take the non cancerous breast off."  In my 'It's one year since the mastectomy check up with the BSS" I surprise myself with 2 things - anger and tears. The tears were in my voice when I answered his question about whether I'd changed my mind about having a reconstruction. "No" I said shaking my head firmly, and the tears burst into my throat and nearly spilled from my eyes as I said I'd had enough surgery, thank you. Which lead into my "cross" statement.  In the days since my check-up I have simmered with anger and frustration. And like a pot of water left simmering too long, water has been spurting out of my eyes most of the day.

I'm frustrated because once again I was judged as not being able to make my own decisions and be responsible for them. A man decided that I was in no state of mind to make a clear decision; decided to protect me from "bad stuff". Why do they do that, and what am I left with as a result?

I will be 49 soon and I have lost It. "Do you feel different, possibly that your thoughts are muzzy?" When I tell him no, I feel as if I have lost Me, He asks, in what way? Where do I start?  My slower thinking; my problems with words, or my appearance?  My hair is grey and so curly it frizzes. This means I have to keep it short or I look like an over styled poodle. I cannot eat very much, or my stomach and bowels twist themselves into knots. I have lost weight. On the one hand good because I fit into size 6 again, on the other, my remaining breast has shrunk in size and no longer matches my false breast, and my beautiful bras don't fit properly. I look back with longing to the days of age 42 - 48 post childbirth and breast feeding when I had a figure of sorts. Those were my prime years I think. The problem is, nobody cared, and nobody cares now either. We all know it is not how you look that is important, it is how you are. Blam. (word made up by my then 3 yr old who knew enough not to swear).

This is how I are: emotional: angry; sad, frustrated. Hormonal. Men should be really grateful for hormones, and PMS and Menopause. They can blame them for women's emotions and be excused of any wrongdoing, or omission. I think I will write to Sara Groves and ask her if God just gives her the words to my life and I supply the meaning, or does she feel what she's writing about?  From her latest album, Invisible Empires comes this line "it's hard to feel obsolete."

I feel obsolete, but I have to think of my DH who also feels thus, as he waits to hear whether he will keep his job or not (again). I cannot change anything that has happened,  or have any control over what may happen, and at the moment I cannot seem to change how I feel either. I heave sobs into DH's warm neck as he pats my back and says "we'll get through this... we'll find a way. It's OK, he says, you're just having a sad day." I take an aspirin and pray for strength. I pick up a library book and start to read about a 49 year old woman whose behaviour is so disgusting I find myself praying like a Pharisee, thanking God I'm not like her! Then I have a silent laugh to myself, get up and do my housework.

"Pain is no measure of His faithfulness" sings Sara, "He withholds no good thing from us. I will open my hands, will open my heart; I am nodding an emphatic yes to all You have me". As I listen, I change my minds pitiful picture of myself to one of a threadbare picanin, running alongside a gifting car, on a dusty road, under a hot summer sun, with arms outstretched, hands cupped ready to receive, and willing to share.

The First Time

Since Christmas I have gone through a number of "first times:" - the first time I went grocery shopping since my 2nd chemo treatment; the first time I drove to town on my own since my 3rd chemo treatment; my first full haircut; ( the curls are so curly that length gave me a seventies look. For those who are young among you, think afro); and coming up as January draws to a close, the first anniversary of finding that suspicious lump in my breast.

Another first time was being able to walk the dog the full length of our beach path in both directions. On my way back from that walk, a young woman pushing a toddler in a pram strode past me, and my poor peripheral vision only picked up once she passed that she was wearing a cancer scarf on her head with no hair showing under it. I confess I stood there staring after her with my heart doing a twisting thing in my chest. My mouth had dropped open but I had no courage to call out to her.

I was reminded of the many times people stopped and stared at me when I was obviously covering up a bald head. I recall a woman stopping in the street and watching me wide eyed and jaw flopped open. I was upset by it at the time, but maybe she was praying for me as I was for the woman with the toddler. ( I hope I was less obvious though). Not all stares were upsetting: there was a man , much taller than me, who almost bumped into me one wintry day when I had been too cold to care about appearance so had a woollen beanie on my scalp. He came to a speedy halt on his toes, looked down at my head and pointed. His mouth held the jaw drop position. I laughed all the way back to the office.

One morning, with my purple and silver threaded scarf elegantly wound around my head, I walked through a crowd and caught the eye of a short haired woman. Her sympathetic little smile said: you and me,both. So I smiled back.

The attention I received as a bald person, and the compliments, exceeded any I received when I had hair. It has made me think back to other times when people have stared at me. I would get lots of looks when I was pregnant. Some people,looked with interest, some with sympathy, some with longing. The best looks I got were from men who looked at me with undisguised joy and curiously pride. I was surprised the first time it happened, but it happened often enough for me to notice a trend. It was one of the highlights of being pregnant. I used to drive an old Mini. People would do the mouth drop thing when I drove past them in those days. One person laughed and pointed. As a 16 year old in my primrose yellow dress, I caught the eye of a cute sailor with a Bruce Willis smile. We shared nothing more than eye contact and a big grin, but his "I see you" smile soothed a lot of teenage angst.

It's amazingly easy to encourage someone. A simple little smile, nod, or a brief moment of eye contact that says "I know. " It comes unasked for, unexpected, at random, but so at the right time, that it is a gift from God. I wish I'd smiled at the woman with the toddler. Next time I will.

1 Thessalonians 3: 12 -13

1. And the Lord make you to increase and abound in love one toward another, and toward all men, even as we do toward you:
2. To the end he may stablish your hearts unblameable in holiness before God, even our Father, at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ with all his saints.

Driving Miss Crazy

Tomorrow it will be six months since my really cool brain surgery, and I'm pleased to say that the insult to my brain has given me real insight into the effects of brain injury on function. When I first came home from the hospital, I needed to walk with a stick to keep my balance, and I needed a bath stool to help me in and out of the bath, and to sit on while dressing. What had previously been unconscious and automatic, became a deliberate exercise in motor planning. Problem solving was just that! When I filled the bath too full with hot water, it was a struggle for me to work out what I would do, and I had to carefully think out each step. Quite frightening for someone who typically just gets things done! I recall how proud I felt of myself the first time I completed the entire bath routine on my own. With my my stick in hand I opened the bathroom door, to see DH beating a rapid retreat. (He'd been secretly hovering outside the door in case he needed to come in and save me.) "I did it" I said and stepped forward with my head high and my face smug.

"You've got toilet paper dragging off your shoe" he said.

My biggest concern since I returned to work is that I don't think as quickly as I used to. Since in my work I constantly do battle with bureaucrats who don't seem to think at all, I doubt that they notice or care that I may be slower off the mark, but it irks me that during my time of being out of action, there has come onto the market a pen that is smarter than I am! My handwriting, never great, has been appalling since my op, and my efforts to stay mentally on the ball, and also recall what everyone has said in a meeting is too much for my holey head. So I'm hoping my new Smart Pen will fill the gap.

Yesterday, my long awaited Drivers assessment with the Occupational Therapist came about. I wasn't feeling too confident. A practice drive with DH had him clutching the door handles in fear, and at one stage he screamed that I was going off the road to the left! I walked to the OT's office which was in a beautiful old Edwardian house. She invited me to sit in a chair in what would have been the drawing room, and started the testing process. Simple eye hand co-ordination activities that I could , as it turned out, do with my eyes closed. After testing my ability to rotate my head and upper body, she checked my feet and legs for strength. Then she sat square in front of me.

Her feet she explained, were the car pedals, and I was to press her feet with mine to accelerate and brake on her instructions. We got started.."accelerate" and my right foot pressed her left one..."brake" and my left foot moved forward, quickly retracted and my right pressed the brake. "oh I'm glad you did that she said, or we'd have a problem right off!" "No" I said, "this is obviously a manual car. I was going to put the clutch in." so maybe I can still think quickly.

On the actual road, in the dual control automatic car, I managed to brake and accelerate effectively and safely, and do 3 point turn, parking and reversing convincingly enough, that she judged me safe to be on the road, although said I'd obviously forgotten a few subtleties in my 7 months off driving. So I am booked for a refresher lesson next week. I'm thinking that after Christmas, I need to gather all the bills and expenses that have arisen out of this year of illness, treatment and surgery. But on reflection, that may drive me crazy.

Better to be thankful that we came out of it afloat. I should keep to my driving motto: reverse only when absolutely necessary.