Happy, Merry, Peace & Joy

The light is slowly returning.  Dharma is becoming a great dog to have around.  Her very pee-ful and chewful past is almost forgotten and, for sure, completely forgiven.  Oh, is she a LOVE! 

Michael and I send our wishes for good health, lots of love, and pure joy to you all - now and always!

Thank you to:

Our families for your love and support.
Dan Goldstein for your kindness and generosity.
All of our wonderful teachers - Open Path, Qigong, and meditation. 
Michael's healthcare practitioners - it's obvious that you are knowledgeable and that you really care.
Friends, here and long-distance, who keep in contact and are "there for us".
My friend, Arnie, and our early morning, silent walks.  You and our walks help keep me sane.
My friend, Jill, for your nurturing massages and your belief in my work. You and your massages keep me whole.
My cousin, Larry.  So glad we connected as adults (at least I think that you're an adult - still wondering about myself).
My cousin, Linda, who I haven't seen since, The Four Tops' "Reach Out I'll Be There" was a hit .  I have lymphoma to thank for our new connection.
Anyone who is reading this - thanks for visiting (Is anyone out there???)

Oh, and thank you, lymphoma.  Thank you for the times when it appears that I'm falling apart, and for the way you have pushed me to, on my better days, let go, trust, and see that I am much more than I ever thought I was.  Thanks, too, for helping me to see just what an amazing man Michael is. 

Is Life awesome or what???

Bo Ring

But not bored.

This is what our lives look like on the outside:

Michael goes to work four days a week.  Most of the rest of his time is spent at appointments, giving me a break from Dharma, training Dharma, and doing meditation and qigong.

I go to exercise class with my mom twice a week.  Other than that, if I'm not sitting for hours with Dharma napping on my lap, I'm feeding or training her or taking her out to poop and pee.

It's eighteen days till Christmas, but you wouldn't know it around here.  No halls are decked, and all of the apparel appears to be attracting bits of torn cardboard from Dharma's favorite toy which is a chewed up packing tube.  Nope! No gay apparel to be found around here.

But the inside of our lives:

This daring adventure, this living with wonder and courage in the face of a teeth-baring cancer and a teeth-baring dog... What a rich place!  It's making me dig deep to see what is underneath the ideas of how life "should be".  Because, contrary to opinions that are as abundant as the snows that we USED TO GET in this part of the country, THIS is how life should be.  In all of its apparent boringness, craziness, and messiness. 

Being humbled by the strong wills of a husband and a dog who both will do things THEIR WAY, I have finally slowed down enough to see just how stunningly beautiful they both are in their knowing of how they need to navigate the unknowable. 


Not only do both Michael and Dharma create a life that is anything but boring, they have both also offered me the best Christmas present ever:  The gifts of themselves in all of their glory.

Dharma-ism for today:

Humans have classes for learning Spanish, English, German, etc., but even in the best dog training classes, there is very little attention given to learning Dog.  We canines are TRYING to tell you many things but, just as you need to be observant and ask questions in order to learn another language through immersion, you need to slow down, observe and ask questions to learn Dog.  And I guarantee that it's worth it.

Belated Thanks Giving

I hope your Thanksgiving consisted of whatever gives you joy.  Michael was with his family in Massachusetts, and my brother was working, so my mom, my son, and I went to a humongous, scrumptious, abundant buffet dinner at a nearby restaurant.  Since I've got a picky gut, I was only able to indulge in about 1% of the different types of food there, but I sure did enjoy looking at the rest of it all.  I wasn't looking with a "Wah! I wish that I could have that!"  And I wasn't drooling with desire or anything.  Just taking in the beauty of well-presented food. A buffet is a museum with colorful, sensuous, edible (for some people) art everywhere one looks. 

I really enjoy that.

I have also enjoyed reading and hearing about the different ways that friends expressed their gratitude around the Thanksgiving holiday.  One person is writing on Facebook something that she's grateful for each day.  Another friend told me about her list which her husband calls her Litany of Gratitude.  Another friend told me that in every moment that she remembers to, she says, "Thank you" to whomever or whatever it is that hears our hearts.

The other day, I was kind of playing around with being grateful for things when I noticed that I was appreciating my warm house, my sleeping puppy on my lap, my sweet Michael, etc.  I was appreciating the things that I like.  Now THAT seemed kind of out of balance.  In fact, I knew that if I were to write a list of things I was thankful for over my life up until this point, it would be 99.99% about what's most comfortable or about "getting what I want".  Looking over this imaginary list right now, I'm not finding a lot of gratitude when, at six years old, I lost my real-looking stuffed yellow kitty in the move from one house to another.  I don't see a big THANK YOU for the fact that, for the longest time during our relationship, I didn't realize that my high school boyfriend was having a great time secretly enjoying another woman. 

So today I started exploring what it's like to be grateful for the things that are uncomfortable, things that I think I don't like or want.  Being grateful for them right in the moment.

Sharp puppy teeth. 
Cancer in Michael's lymph nodes. 
The icky feeling I had when I awoke from a strange dream. 
Feeling a little shaky about wanting to wear my spandex workout tights to exercise class while my elderly exercise-mates showed up in their street clothes.

IT IS SO MUCH FUN to be grateful for the things that we were taught were not grateful-worthy!!!  It's all here, anyway.  Might as well embrace and dance with everything.  Do we think that if we aren't grateful for it, it will go away?  If that were the case, Michael would be cancer-free right now, Dharma would have quit peeing in the house, and no one would have to pay taxes.

But at some point, cancer landed softly, and today I just as softly looked at it with gratitude.  The nauseating feeling of my dream when I awoke this morning just turned to nothing when I honestly felt thankful for it. 

I don't know who or what I'm thanking. I don't know if any of this matters.  But I like it.  Just taking in the beauty of well-presented experiences.  Life is a museum with colorful, sensuous, edible (sometimes) art everywhere one looks. 

I really enjoy that.

Dharma talk for today:  "I'm thankful, even when all I get for breakfast, lunch, and dinner is the same old kibble every day, and even when my slaves want me to do dumb things like 'sit' and 'stay'.  I show my gratitude by running around like a crazy girl.  Then, with my mouth wide open and teeth poised just so, hurling myself into my slaves' bodies. 

Humans don't always appreciate being shown gratitude.

For Michael, While You Are Away

It's 12:30 p.m.  I still have nine hours to go before I can relax into dreamland where NO ONE demands my attention. 

It's 12:30 p.m..  So far today:

I got Dharma out of her crate,
took her outside to poop and pee,
fed her,
took her outside to poop and pee,
put ear medication in her ears,
(great fun was had by all),
cleaned up a pee accident in my office
took her outside to poop and pee,
took a bath to wash away all of the sweat that comes with keeping up with this pup,
(Dharma was enclosed in the bathroom with a peanut butter-filled Kong.),
cleaned up a pee accident in the screened-in porch,
took her outside to poop and pee,
TRIED to socialize Dharma with a friend's dog,
(Oh, lordy...)
got a sweet, but short walk in with a friend,
(Dharma was safely shut in her crate.)
took her outside to poop and pee, (Dharma - not my friend),
fed Dharma lunch,
cleaned up a pee accident in my office,
took her outside to poop and pee,
TRIED to fix my lunch,
cleaned up a pee accident in the hall,
took her outside to poop and pee,
realized the soup was boiling frantically,
put Dharma in my now favorite possession -
the crate -
ate my lunch in peace,
realized that peeing inside the house
is possibly now considered a ticket outside,
realized that she has me trained well,
decided only Dharmas on leashes can now go outside -
briefly,
no chewing, no playing, no fun,
outdoor time is bizness time,
decided I'm really kind of old for this,
decided that I miss you,
and when you get home,
I'm going to pee on the floor,
so that I have to go outside,
alone,
on some trail,
for a long time.

Michael, I hope this account of my lovely day with your adorable pup doesn't make you want to stay in Massachusetts with your family forever.

But I'm not too worried.  We know where to find you.

Hee hee.

Inquiring Minds

Me:  Hello, Michael.  Since this blog is supposed to be (mostly) about you, and since people often inquire about you, I would like to ask you a few questions. 

First of all, the question that is most asked:  How are you?  I know it's kind of a big and open-ended question, but, well, how ARE you?

Michael: Oh, God.  (Laughter)  I'm doing really well.  I feel like I'm living with the best overall health that I've had in my life.  By far, I'm in the best place that I have been since my diagnosis, and probably even before that. I'm really enjoying life, and I'm in love with this fantastic blogger who I met years ago [Honest, he said that - I didn't sneak it in!]. And I have a new puppy that loves me.  I have family and friends who have been supportive of me through this whole process.  What more could I want?

Me:  You really seem to be living a life that doesn't include anything to do with cancer.  Today, what is the biggest pain about this cancer diagnosis?

Michael: I guess at this point, it still seems somewhat like a weight that is hanging over me - that it's still there, even though it doesn't cause me any symptoms,  pain, or fear.  I want it to go away, and I'm having to learn to deepen my ability to be patient.

Me:  And today, what is the biggest gift you have received along with this cancer diagnosis?

Michael:  I've received so many gifts that it's hard to pick one that is the greatest, but I'd have to say, overall, it's a profoundly deepened appreciation for life. 

Me:  Do you know that when Dharma is in a mellow place (yes, it does happen) and just hanging out on your lap, you two are so dang cute together?

Michael:  It's hard to top Dharma for cuteness. I just really enjoy sitting and having her on my lap, feeling the warmth of her body, and just holding her and loving her.  She's good therapy.  As long as she's asleep.

 


There ya have it, folks!  Straight from the mouth of my sweet hubby!

Any other questions???

The "D" Word

The subject very few want to talk about.

But I do.

Ever since my best friend died shortly after I turned fourteen, and ever since one of the twins I was carrying died before he was born, I have tried to figure out death.  This brain has a hard time with the concept.

When I was younger, death always came to take away old people - my great-grandparents, great-aunts and great-uncles.  I could justify that.  Old people wear out and die.  Makes sense.  (Of course, at the time, I never thought I would ever be one of the old people.)  In our family, we didn't do grief, so after the obligatory funeral, we went on with life as usual.

I didn't even grieve the death of my best friend.  It wasn't because I was some kind of young, but advanced, person who saw death from a deeply spiritual perspective - it was because I didn't know how to feel the immense feelings that normally come crashing in when someone so close is suddenly gone for good.

With all of the deaths that have occurred around me, I don't think that I truly felt the heart-breaking loss of someone I loved until the best-dog-in-the-world, Buddha, died last year.  The deep ache was intense and immediate.  It knocked me to my knees.  I always said that the Buddha dog was my teacher.  His teachings continued with his death. 

Oh.  I haven't cried about him in so long, but writing about it now, the floodgates have opened.

If I'm not interrupted by Someone wanting me to watch a puppy training video or the constant interruption of Dharma puppy wanting to play and eat my hands, I'm interrupted by uncontrollable, tearful outbreaks.

Okay.  Back to the subject at hand.

Unless a person has already died in some respects, a cancer diagnosis will probably bring up death issues and plaster them all over the walls so that they can't be ignored.

And is it me, or have you noticed that people are dying all the time?  A day doesn't go by where I am not aware of strangers in other countries dying, thanks to our drones; other strangers dying from the effects of Hurricane Sandy; people I know dying of disease; friends of people I know dying of all kinds of things.  We're dropping like flies, I tell ya.

It's one of the most common events to take place here, and I still don't understand it.  I really don't think that death was created in a way where brains could understand it, other than to know that life is born and later dies.  The end.

Sometimes, I feel completely at peace with the "D" word - it's a normal and natural phenomenon. The unknown, which I am curious to explore when the time arrives.  As Ram Dass' friend said about death, "Tell them that it's absolutely safe!"

Still, I don't even know for sure that anything really dies.  The body morphs.  Does the identification of "I", "me" go anywhere?  If so, how?  If you have an opinion about that, I would love to hear it.

It's all amazing.  A mystery.

The other night at about 1:00 a.m., Michael and I put blankets on the grass and some of those rice-filled, microwaveable shoulder warmers inside our coats, then we stretched out in the dark and cold to watch a meteor shower, which we never saw because it was hidden in the glow of the city lights.  The sky was HUGE beyond imagination above us and, I assume, below us and all around us.  The stars, so far away, were messengers from the vastness of the universe and beyond, reminding us how small we are, yet how much a part of it all we are, also.

Noticing the perfection of the universe, I realized that all that occurs here on this little planet (including our death and the deaths of people we love) must also be perfect.  How can this little part be any different than the whole? 



Latest Dharma teaching:  Run like a wild woman (or man) and let no obstacles get in your way (crawl under them, if you have to).  And after you have exhausted yourself with complete and utter recklessness, willingly succumb to a big, delicious, snoreful nap.  No thoughts of the future or dying; no stories about being abandoned at an early age.  Only this, right now.

 Dharma demonstrating delicious, snoreful nap - to be done on a human's lap, of course

Healing (Or Not) Into Something Or Other

I guess puppy training videos are boring to some people.  And to some dogs.  Both Michael and Dharma crashed out during the exciting part about learning to roll over.

I've never been one to care if a dog can roll over or play dead.  What are the uses for those skills?  If it's not practical, I don't need to expend the energy.  Still, I'm able to stay awake (unlike some two-leggeds and four-leggeds...) while watching various dogs rolling onto their backs to please some human who likes such things. 

e

Dad and baby, cuttin' the zzzzzzs

Before Someone interrupted my attempt at writing this blog post, saying it was time to watch a dog training video, (and then that Someone interrupted the video by falling asleep.  Ahem...), I was GOING TO write about how fittingly I titled this Healing Into Life blog back in February, and how I didn't realize it until now.  (Geniuses don't always immediately realize their brilliance, I have heard.)

Confession:  I kinda stole my blog title from a book of Stephen Levine's which I first read in the late '80s - Healing Into Life and Death.  (I'm also told that geniuses are smart enough to not always have to reinvent the wheel, so stealing is a good saver of energy.)  At the time of Michael's diagnosis, I wanted to focus on the "healing into life" part.  I wasn't willing to entertain the death part, even though 100% of all the bodies around are moving in that direction.

Anyway, this diagnosis has been instrumental in changing and healing our lives in more ways than I'm probably aware of.  And for that, I am continually in awe and grateful.

I may not always look or sound happy about it.  I have dumped out my rage in emails to understanding friends, cried buckets of tears in numerous public places, and had days when my bed's magnetic force wouldn't let me get up.  But I've also learned a lot about myself, watched Michael learn about himself, been the recipient of generosity bigger than I knew could exist, and felt my heart soften immensely (I needed that). 

The experiences we are having while living with this cancer are not special.  Everyone reading this has been touched by some big loss, a devastating diagnosis, or a huge disappointment that changed everything.  It's all a part of being human.  Maybe we signed up for this.  Maybe it's all part of some extraordinary plan.  Maybe it just is.  I have no idea.

But here we are.



My Dharma teacher is showing me The Way.  Today's lesson:  Be so empty, so living in wonder, that when a bird flies overhead, you have no choice but to sit down and watch like you've never seen anything like it before.

Introducing...

...our new baby!

 This is Dharma.

 Best guess is that she is fourteen weeks old.  She's a lab mix (the animal control people who picked her up in Kansas thought she was a black St. Bernard mix.  Oh, my...)

 Black dogs are hard to to photograph.  But they are not hard to love.

Dharma:  Hinduism describes dharma as the natural universal laws whose observance enables humans to be contented and happy, and to save [themselves] from degradation and suffering. Dharma is the moral law combined with spiritual discipline that guides one's life. Hindus consider dharma the very foundation of life. It means "that which holds" the people of this world and the whole creation. Dharma is the "law of being" without which things cannot exist.

So far, we are three for three in the poop and pee in the house game.  We'll try harder to figure out the outdoors bathroom tomorrow when it's light outside.  

Dharma's skills so far (besides pooping and peeing in the house): She knows "Sit" and she mostly comes when called.  

Oh, we are so in love!

Watching

We visited with Jeff (oncologist) again yesterday.  Doing Watching and Waiting or Watchful Waiting or Watch, Wait, and Worry (however one wants to call it), means visiting Jeff every two months.

Jeff checks the already enlarged nodes down there and checks to see if any neck nodes are suspicious.  He also checks for an enlarged spleen.  Michael passed the palpation tests, and he's feeling fine - no symptoms of tiredness, weight loss, night sweats, etc.

So....  we continue to watch and wait.

I've decided that I'd prefer to just call it "Watching".  Being here now.  Those fears I wrote about in my last post...  they, like Waiting, are about a future that I don't know.  I don't find peace there.  But it's really nice here in this moment as I look out at the gray skies and the trees with yellowing leaves outside my window and as I listen to Michael running water in the kitchen.

I love "Watching" Michael feeling well.  This is very good right now.

We're All Scared

I have been a member of a number of MCL groups on Facebook for the last few months.

A new group started up yesterday.  It's for partners and spouses of people with MCL.

In my introductory post, I told about my situation, and I talked about being scared.  My collection of fears is not small, and each little fear has been dancing in my head quite obviously the past week or so.  Powerful little buggers they are.  Or so they seem, anyway.

In response to my post, a woman said, "We are all scared."

I knew that.  But I forgot.

We are all scared.

On the MCL list, we are afraid of the disease, of the chemo, of financial issues, of relationship problems, of friends leaving us because they can't handle what's going on with us. We're also afraid that we can't handle what's going on with us, and we're afraid of death.  I am not afraid of these things.  We are afraid of these things.  We, the spouses and partners of people with MCL (along with just about everyone else), are afraid of these things.  The fear is not mine, it's ours.*

And right now, many parents of school-aged children in Colorado and other places are afraid for their children to be walking to school or playing in the neighborhood, because a young girl was abducted a few days ago.

It seems that EVERYONE is scared of something. And that makes fear seem very, very normal, and I feel much less alone.





*(We could argue that feelings aren't owned by anyone - they "just are" - and that way of looking also helps me to see that I'm not alone in experiencing fear.)

Leo Update

It looks like Leo has a new home, and it isn't ours.

I feel happy knowing that the people he now lives with are enjoying that beautiful guy. And Leo has a German Shepherd friend there, which he wouldn't have here.

AND Michael gets home tomorrow. We will have a quiet time of re-connecting.

It all works out.

Fourteen and a half years ago, when we went looking for a 4-legged family member, Buddha was the first dog we visited. But I, being of the picky variety, wanted a black lab, and if Buddha had any retriever in him, it was just a tiny bit. So we passed him up and went to a different shelter where we met a couple of black labs. They were not perfect dogs like Buddha was, and I'm not hard-headed enough to take a not-so-wonderful black lab over the most awesome dog in the world, so we went back and snatched our sweet Buddha.

One of the best decisions we've made together.

Why this process has to be so much longer and harder, I don't know.

Don't tell Michael that I truly considered bringing home a 160- pound Rottweiler sweetheart yesterday. He was on a diet after reaching a high of 180. His neck was at least as big as my thigh (but much more muscular). I just didn't want a six year-old dog. And I also didn't want to be the one living in the doghouse when Michael came home and saw that I had brought home a porker of a dog. Tee hee...

There Was Love, And I Passed Him Up

Oh, I'm in love.

And I can't do a thing about it.

My Love is at the animal shelter a few miles from our house.

Michael is at his qigong retreat many miles from our house.

The two have not met.

My preferences are: a big, black, male dog.

This dog I fell for is: a HUGE, white, male dog.

One out of three isn't bad, is it?

I got an emailed okay from Michael, saying that he trusted me on making a decision regarding a different dog whose information I had sent him. But that dog did not fall in love with me or allow me to fall for her. (She, being a "she", met two out of my three criteria, but she flunked the personality test, which should be added to the list of preferences above.)

I guess I could have used Michael's email as my ticket to get WHATEVER dog I fell in love with because, after all, Michael said that he trusts me, right?

But trust is earned, and I might lose that if I came home with a HUGE, white Love who sheds almost as much as me.

While I was on retreat, I had kinda sorta thought that getting a dog might not be the wisest decision. It's hard to travel, one more thing to deal with. Blah blah blah.

Then I came home to less-than-fun-times, and I realized that we need all of the joy and love we can hoard. Life is too short to wait and yippeee later. For me, a dog is like a baby. They both open up my gut and heart and turn me into a kid again. If there is still a kid inside this old body, it needs to come out and play!

I know there are other dogs that I can love just as much as my beloved Leo (yes, that's what they say his name is right now, subject to Michael and I finding him the most perfect name WHEN he comes to live with us). Our new awesome dog doesn't have to be Leo.

But, I really, really love him lots.

Sigh...

Into the Fire

A week of cell-exploding beauty; which included probably thirty hours of just sitting and watching the birds, chipmunks, deer, and mountains outside my window, along with no spoken word for five days.  And then I came back to...  Life.  Which I never left, of course.  But when the most important thing that needs to be done is to fill the water dish for the birds, one can get a little, er... forgetful about the fact that Life has its own plans.

First, the kind of bliss that I, in my naiveté, would choose for the world, if I were to run things:

I arrived at One-Of-The-Closest-Places-To-Heaven more than ready for

Silence.

And other than a small amount of book reading that I did and a few profoundly wise and insightful offerings of notes written back and forth between me and a friend, planted and discovered in a secret hiding place down in a gully under a big rabbitbrush, I had no human or verbal contact with the world for five blissful days.

I realize that might drive some people crazy.

It emptied, then nourished my soul.

This is what replaced the views I have at home:

Looking east from my little cabin

The view looking out my western windows

(Are ya jealous yet?)

The view about six feet outside my big southern window.

The first day or so, I watched as birds discovered and drank from the water I had placed in this (what do you call a dish that you put under a potted plant?) bird-watering dish.  The dish held a gallon of water (one whole milk jug that I found under the sink).  What a perfect place for birds to drink in this parched desert!  For hours and hours, I sat and watched all kinds and colors of feathered creatures delicately sipping.

After a day or two, a mountain bluebird walked into the water and waded around a bit.

Mountain bluebird

Then, he just went into fits of birdbathing joy.

Splish splash, I was takin' a bath

It had never entered my mind that this was not only a place for drink, but also a place to bathe!  (Drinking and bathing and shitting in one place... oooooh, yum!)  Obviously, I have not been around many birdbaths in my life.

I am not exaggerating when I say that watching the bird show outside my window for days was one of the most healing experiences I can remember having.

Deer also came to visit the bowl a couple of nights, and they drank it dry.  One morning, I got to see two males imbibing.  I was THIS close, but behind glass, so they didn't know I was there.  I saw how their noses move when they drink.

When all one has to do is to sit and watch, or sit and ponder, or take a walk and ahhhhh at the beauty and spaciousness, a clearer, more open perspective to life takes over.  Spacious and accepting.

After staying up late the last night of the retreat, due to cleaning my cabin and having fun reconnecting with the other retreatants, I drove home through rain, hail, snow, and incredible yellow aspen views.  I was very much looking forward to slowly entering the world that everyone here had continued to inhabit.

But my experience of coming back was more that of a c-section birth - Bam! From womb to bright lights - than a natural transition.

I won't give you all the gory details, but I'll just say that my family took the opportunity of my absence to have much more drama than I would have preferred (but who asked me?).

And Michael and I ended up in the ER about seven hours after my arrival.  Fortunately, the hospital didn't keep him overnight.  Unfortunately, they did entertain us until 2:00 a.m.  I have to say, if I need to be partying until all hours of the morning in a place with mostly cold, institutional decor, I am happy that the people I'm partying with are my sweet hubby and the kind and wonderful people at our nearby hospital.

We still don't know the source of Michael's excruciating gut pains, but it's not his liver or his gallbladder.  Pain meds, anti-nausea meds, and stuff to coat his digestive system helped.  Is this a cancer thing?  Is this irritation from all of the weird things he takes?

Cancer (and other diseases, I'm sure) changes the game.  Every physical issue that comes along brings up wonders and worries about its cause.

This morning, I opened a book that I had ordered before my retreat and which arrived while I was gone.  From the preface I read:

This book is about liberation.  That doesn't mean the end of earthquakes, wars, bankruptcies, unemployment and cancer, and it doesn't mean a life without heartbreak, depression, anxiety or addiction.  It's about recognizing that this is the Holy Reality, and that the Holy Reality is not somewhere else.

Amen.



(Quote from Nothing to Grasp by Joan Tollifson.)

Ahhhhhhh....

Things are easy and calm here.  Michael is settled into a routine pour le maintenant (routine for the moment).  A nice eddy in the stream.  The rapids are fruitful, and this moment of rest is sweet.

I'm leaving for retreat in a couple of days.  During this retreat, I will be in my own little hermitage in a beautiful location in the San Luis Valley of Colorado.  I may not see another person for a week, or I may choose to spend an hour here and there with other retreatants.  It will all unfold perfectly.  I look forward to seeing what comes up for me as I sit and watch the clouds move across the mountains while the deer graze outside my window.

Not long after I get back, Michael will go on another Qigong retreat.  I know that he feels very supported and empowered in the presence of the Qigong Master and the other participants.

So watch out world!  Soon, we will be refreshed and rejuvenated.  And when we are both home, we will find The-Dog-That-Is-Waiting-To-Be-Our-Bestest-Furry-Friend.  (Doing a celebratory dance now, even though that 4-legged isn't here yet.  I know he will be.)

Love!

For GG & Dancing

Excuse me while I do a little follow-up on the "ducky" post for G.G. & Dancing.

What I saw yesterday:

And the car is even from the state in which I was born!

Carry On

I've got to do something so that the first post you see when you land on this blog will no longer be my colorful attempt at painting.  May that post, as fun as it was to create, move itself down a few notches and rest in peace.

I recently re-read everything I've written here.  I don't know how obvious it was to others at the time, but as I look back over the last almost 7 months, I can recognize the state of shock that Michael and I were initially experiencing after his diagnosis.

Today I no longer feel like The Woman Whose Husband Has Mantle Cell Lymphoma.  For now, MCL doesn't sneak in between my eyelids at night, and it's not hanging around me like the dirt cloud of Charlie Brown's friend, Pig-Pen.  Yes, it continues to scream for more mind time and emotional space than I think it really needs, but who am I to know how much attention something like this requires?  I'm new at this.

Michael is still feeling well.  Every day he puts many varied things into his body.  It's more than I can keep up with, and I've let go of the need to know a lot of the details, instead choosing to trust Michael and his healthcare practitioners.  That's HUGE for someone who has historically thought she was responsible for the well-being of all of her loved ones (and sometimes, the rest of the world)!!!   (The knots in my shoulders and everyone around me appreciate it, I'm sure.)

And the extra good news is that Michael has gained back more than half of the weight he lost about two months ago when things went wacky around here.  I barely mentioned the two weeks from hell fun times we had in this post but, yeah, he lost at least 18 pounds in a very short time then.  Once he got off of one thing and started to build up some other things, he began to feel healthier, and the weight started to slowly return.  He's looking good, and his energy is great.  No, wait, he's looking great and his energy is good.

Yeah, that.



Rejoice, rejoice, we have no choice but to carry on...

MCL Painting #3

It's been five months since I've done an MCL painting.  This one is titled Pure Joy and it was inspired by my friend's question of, "When was the last time you did something for the pure joy of it?" 

(This painting stuff is therapy for me, and I don't bother with the rules of shading, blending, and perspective - I just have fun.)

It's hard to tell by looking at this photo, but in addition to painting things I can easily like (including two little people on their way up the mountain), I glued on things I consider trash:  a cigarette butt I found out by the street in front of our house, part of a paper bag, some black plastic, some messy tissue, and a Starbuck's logo from one of their plastic cups.

In walking along the South Platte River in Denver on early mornings, my friend and I listen to the sound of the moving water and the sun-welcoming birds.  We see runners silhouetted against orange and yellow skies, and we see the homeless in their sleeping bags, slumbering only a few yards from comfy beds in three-quarter-million-dollar condos.  We pass perfectly green lawns and parks, and it's not long before we notice piles of beer cans next to our path.  Yesterday morning, I saw what looked like the remnants of the previous night's fast food dinner party strewn across a large set of cement stair steps leading down to the river.  (Did they hate to eat and run, but...?)  Crows and pigeons were having a heyday. 

I don't pick up the trash.  I am part of the scene of river/lawn/trash/people/path.

And I can't heal the MCL.  I am part of this scene of health/cancer/love/fear/joy.

Just Ducky

I could have also named this post "Pure Joy".  Recently, when I was feeling grinchy - perfect adjective, stolen from a good friend - another good friend asked me what I do for the pure joy of it.  Well, good friends, for the pure joy of it, I PLAYED all weekend in Snowmass with my beloved Mikey and some other good friends.

We hiked a little.

And we walked a lot - because we had to get to the Ducky Derby in Aspen!

(Don't those big lips just say, "Kiss me, you fool"?)

Happy yellow ducks in sunglasses heading for the finish line - some racing, many enjoying the sights, quite a few socializing, and some unlucky ones getting picked up and thrown up or down the river by giant two-leggeds.  

Pure Joy = Feeling my heart smiling hugely while:  watching thirty thousand yellow duckies floating down a river, AND/OR watching people enjoying thirty thousand yellow duckies floating down a river, AND/OR being in the tremendous beauty of the Colorado mountains AND/OR being with my sweet Michael, AND/OR being with good friends, AND/OR many other things too numerous to mention, AND especially while just being HERE right now.

(Photos courtesy of Mr. Mikey.)

I'm a Believer

Well, I couldn't get any of the I'm a Believer lyrics to fit what I want to say, but I'm stickin' by the title because yesterday's visit to a new oncologist made me a believer in second opinions.

Where the first oncologist that we saw in February had an office that was beautiful and homey, its parking lot vast and free, this new oncologist who asked to be called Jeff has a sterile office downtown in Hecticville where parking is survival of the fittest.

Where the first oncologist was a pretty good listener and didn't shout Michael out of his office when he heard that Michael is going to do this his own way, Jeff was an excellent listener who also didn't go into convulsions when he heard about Michael's current course of treatment.  Not only did he listen well, he asked good questions about Michael's life - to get to know him as a person.

Where the first oncologist recommended R-CHOP - acting like treatment would be no big deal -and wasn't open to conversation about an adjunct treatment our friend underwent, due to a recommendation from a well-known doctor at Stanford, Jeff gave good reason to do Hyper CVAD, followed by a stem cell transplant.  

Heavy-duty stuff, this treatment plan. 

But Jeff is willing to stay with Watch and Wait for now, since Michael is doing so well. This means that Michael will be seen every two months, in order to monitor things.

Even though there are issues of distance, parking and lack of beautiful feng shui, Jeff wins in my book.  But I might not have known how good he was if we hadn't met with the first doc and if we hadn't had these last six months to learn more and more about MCL and its treatments.  (Jeff also comes with a bit better credentials for dealing with MCL, in my humble opinion.)

I'm intentionally not linking to sites that tell of the ingredients in the treatment plans above.  Today I started reading more about Hyper CVAD, and after a few minutes, I decided that if it (or R-CHOP) was a course of action I was planning on taking, I would have to put away my computer and just dive in to the treatment, completely enveloped in trust in the doctors and All-That-Is-Bigger-Than-Me.

Last night, I told Michael what an honor it is to be traveling this road with him.  Easy for me to say, I know.  I am not the one who at this time has the diagnosis, the current regimens governing my life, and the view of potential treatments lurking up ahead. I get to have my own challenges.  And those challenges are pushing me to change and open my heart more and more.  It's very uncomfortable.  But it's kind of awe-inspiring, too.

I'm in love, oooooh, I'm a believer!
Yeah yeah yeah yeah

It's a Family Affair

Michael's parents left yesterday.

We had fun times...

...getting caught by a giant miner...

... and checking out a few restaurants in town (This is outside of one of my favorites, the Mercury Cafe).


We also shared many bathroom jokes - only not the kind you're thinking.  More like real life, "How many broken parts can a new toilet come with?" and "How many trips to the hardware store does it take before a new toilet can be installed and working?"

The whole installation from purchase to finish... Oh, yeah, it's still not finished.  We're still waiting on a replacement tank for the new one that had a leaky defect.   Well, the partial installation from purchase to our present funky toilet, with the too-small temporary tank, was like traveling with a wild jungle safari.  We never knew what would surprise us at the next turn.

And we were even paying a professional to do the job! 

But what are families for if they can't spend a day and a half talking potty talk together.

Thank you for coming, H & W!  We love you, and it was good to have you here!

The Further Adventures Of...

... some of the luckiest people on the planet.

We weren't in the theater in Aurora when violence and its carnage hit.  We didn't have a loved one there, but we still feel so much compassion for the wounded, the friends and families of those killed and injured, and the shooter and his family. Lots of pain and confusion behind that act.

We have been through other challenging times during the past few weeks.  Michael had a strong reaction to one of the regimens that he was undergoing.  It wasn't pretty.  And it forced us to grow in ways we didn't know were waiting for us.  In the end it was a net plus, but boy was it a challenge for a while.

This morning we got the results of Michael's recent blood work and CT scan.

Drum roll please.

Blood results:  Normal
CT scan:  Lymph nodes that were previously reviewed are now slightly smaller in size.  No areas of swelling or enlargement seen.

We could draw the conclusion that the things Michael has been doing* have not only kept the MCL from growing and spreading, but they have also been effective in slightly reducing the MCL.  I like that idea, and it may be 100% true, but we can't completely know what the cancer cells are up to.

Because Michael has stopped the regimen that knocked him on his physical and spiritual butt, he has possibly lost the "alternative" treatment that affected the MCL the most.

I don't know what comes next.  I am not in charge here.  Sometimes I'm even okay with that.



*If you or a friend of yours has cancer and you want information about the various protocols Michael has been following, you can contact me at http://www.carolforpeace.com/contact.html

Vast and Amazing

"Vast and amazing," an illustration by London-based artist Freya

7-14-2012

Dear Mikey,

Today at the healing circle where I and six others did what we could to bring healing to your body and soul, I realized how beautifully you are allowing yourself to receive.  That kind of stuff is a challenge for me.  I have never liked being the center of attention.  I don't think you have, either, but you are now allowing it, and it is a privilege to be here to witness your grace and your ability to be vulnerable.

You mentioned that you don't like that I continue to be in second place, that all the attention and energy goes to you.  First, I don't think that's true. I am surrounded by love.  Secondly, I want to thank you for allowing me to take this journey with you.  I am happy at the way that we are both learning and growing.  You may argue with me about this, but you are my teacher.

This isn't easy for either of us, but wherever this takes us, we're up for it.  And we're not alone.


Haola!

I love you,

Sweet Pea

And Many Times Looking Cross-eyed

Michael J. Fox, in his book, Always Looking Up, writes this regarding Parkinson's Disease:  "You suffer the blow, but capitalize on the opportunity left upon its wake."

For me, the opportunities "left upon the wake" of Michael's diagnosis are numerous and profound.


And still, I often have no clue about any of this.


A short list of the opportunities I have noticed:

• The flexibility to be able to fix one kind of food for a period of time, only to have to give it away or eat it all myself because NOW this kind of food is what is required.  Then, in a couple of days (if we're lucky) to throw that food out, because it isn't working so well. (An opportunity to open a soup kitchen where I can serve the food that, yesterday, we thought was ours?)

Some days, garden carrots with penises are okay.  Some days, they're not. 
(I can understand that.)  

• To face in real time - not just as a hypothetical idea - that there are few things that we truly "know" in life.  (Definitely NOT a good time to consider a career as a politician.)

• Realizing that it's not just Michael who needs a support team.  I do, too.  (An opportunity to let go of my hermit-like ways.  Damn it.)

I don't even know how to write about many of the changes that MCL is leaving in its wake.  MCL feels like a roto-rooter, cleaning out all of the methods I've historically used to function in the world.  Now, it's about just placing one foot in front of the other. It doesn't feel like there is always ground to receive that step, but there seems to be something kind and compassionate, huge and spacious that let's me know it's okay to let go into this free fall.

Post-Party

We didn't dance.  And because of all of the talking going on, we heard very few of the songs we collected from people around the world (thank you for your offerings, though - we're sill listening to the colorful, varied, and heartfelt songs you suggested).  But our house was full of people we care about, our rooms and backyard were full of laughter, and we indulged to our heart's content in drool-inducing food from our favorite restaurant (Ali Baba Grill).  It was heavenly.

Michael and I went all out and wore patterns and bright colors!  (Yes, we do sometimes wear more than khaki and blue and black and white.)  

Left:  A good friend who looks twenty years younger than her age.  Right:  Me, looking at least a minute younger than my age.

Sometimes it feels like MCL is chewing us up and spitting us out.  This is not an easy road, but it's made much easier and richer by the love and support we have. Thank you!

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. - Lao Tzu

Thoughts on Another Year

According to the calendar that someone made up long, long ago, today I turn another year older.  One more revolution around the sun.  Another number to remind me that I've lasted on this earth a fairly long time.

The number of years I hang out here is not nearly as important to me as living this moment fully.  Yet, it took me most of these years to realize that this moment is IT and to see just how full life is.  My wonder and gratitude cells slept for a very long time, and I'm so relieved that they finally woke up!

The early morning sun is shining in my window, birds are singing out in the backyard trees, the sound of fans drawing in cool air fills our house, and Michael just cleared his throat.  I love life.

In my celebration of this life, I especially want to acknowledge my sweetie.  I am in deep love and respect for Michael.  Because of his love, I have realized that I'm loveable.  (That's huge!)  Because of his dedication to qigong, I do my qigong every morning.  (When Michael asks if I'm ready to do qigong, I usually moan.  I don't want to do it.  And then, while I am qigonging - and always afterwards - I feel nurtured and peaceful and big and open and.... lovely.)  I admire Michael for all that he is doing to heal.  He never misses a pill, he doesn't eat the things that are not helpful, and he does eat things that make his face bunch up and his body shiver with disgust.  He is a disciplined and strong man.  He is kind and he is generous.  I admire and love the heck out of him.

I could go on and on about the qualities in Michael that I admire and love.  But, as my daughter would say, the "cheese factor" would be over the top.  Too much Velveeta.  So I'll save that all for Michael.  (Ooops, he's not eating dairy.)

Mostly, I just want to celebrate another day of living.  

(Hmmmm... I forgot to add that song to our Happy Song playlist.)

Chasing After Water

Michael has said it, and I have felt it.  No matter what physical issues I've had before, I have never felt it like I feel this.

It's as if there is something hanging over us.  Something that wasn't there before.  It seems that we each have a part of us that is waiting for it to leave so that we can go on with "life as usual".

What a crock...

MCL has certainly changed how we live our lives.  Most of Michael's waking hours are spent attending to it.  If, instead of being MCL, it was a newborn child, we would be spending most of our waking (and sleeping) hours attending to that child, but we wouldn't be waiting for it to leave!  We would be taking in every moment of our wonderful life.

The mind does funny things, doesn't it?  THIS is our wonderful life!

Today I have entertained the possibility that we can be more fully engaged with all of "this".  Over the last four months, we have integrated this diagnosis quite a bit.  But I want to go even deeper with it.  I want to accept it exactly as it is, embracing and enjoying all of the rituals that have become our new way of living.  Not looking at the things we do as chores that have to be done in order to deal with an unwanted guest, but holding them as loveable ingredients in this precious life. 

There is no perfect future to wait for. We are here.

***

We took my mom to the Pearl Street Mall in Boulder yesterday - a Fatherless Father's Day excursion.  We were drawn into the perfection of "right now" as we watched children fully engaged in play in a fountain area.

The girl with the striped pants and the cup on the right just kept trying to catch water, but each fountain is only on for a few seconds.  She never got her cup filled, but it seemed that the process was much more important than the success of a full cup.  She was very diligent.

 I love the look of the water hanging in the air.

A precious look of wonder on the face of the kid in the diaper.

Let's Play!

We're Havin' a Party!

We're having a party
dancing to the music...

 - Sam Cooke





And you're all invited!!!

Let it be known that 1) back in February, Michael Barrow's 50th birthday was spent in a hospital where he was sliced, diced, and biopsied, and 2) coming soon, Carol Barrow is having a birthday (not her 50th - been there, done that). 

Due to the aforementioned circumstances which were/are beyond our control, a Celebration of Life party will be held next weekend.

If you happen to be in the Denver area next weekend and you would like to participate in the fun and frivolity - if you want to celebrate the fact that WE'RE ALIVE! - contact me for further details at my email address (if you have it) or here (if you don't).


All attending - and anyone else who is so moved - is asked to send me (at the aforementioned email address or link) a song that inspires happiness and/or big smiles.  All songs contributed will be thrown into a playlist and blasted through our iPod boombox the night of the party for our neighbors' listening pleasure (and just maybe a little "dancing to the music").

Haola!

The Storm

Last night.  11:48 p.m.

The RUMBLINGS of agitated skies 

shook me awake.

Wind was dervishing,

torrents of water were slicing

the air, and sirens were screaming.

Not the shrill kind of sirens

that wail from fire trucks 

or ambulances, 

but the eerie kind,

like a bomb warning.

And I heard the voice of God.
(You might call it
a Public Address System.)

He (yes, I was disappointed to

realize that It was a he) may

have been telling us to take cover,

but I couldn't understand Him

over the constant RUMBLINGS.

Maybe He was sharing with us the 

meaning of life, or offering instructions

on how to become a revered teacher,

or just saying, "Hi, I love you".

But I missed it.  

Those loud RUMBLINGS

rumbled between me and

the words of God.

As I stood and pondered

in our big closet... (we have 

no basement for these things, 

only a crawl space which I imagine

is loaded with spiders, and 

I would rather die in a tornado

than live with a big, black,

hairy spider on my body), 

as I stood and pondered in 

our big closet, Michael stayed 

in bed, on his back, beneath

windows that could blow shards

of glass all over him

should a tornado rip through

the neighborhood.

(Being from the East Coast,

he doesn't have the tornado smarts

this Kansas girl holds in her cells.)

Once in a while, he would 

surface into consciousness

and I would describe the 

scene out there.  At one point,

he said this could be one way 

to take care of  the cancer.

I sat in our big closet and pondered that 

until the RUMBLINGS became

rumblings. 

Then I crawled into bed, and for the

second time since this diagnosis,

I felt pissed.  

This time, I was pissed

at cancer. 

Haola!

All is well.

Rarities

Not-Real-Fun Facts:  "They" say that Mantle Cell Lymphoma is one of the rarest non-Hodgkins lymphomas, making up 6 per cent of all non-Hodgkins lymphomas.  I read that there are only about 15,000 MCL patients in the U.S.

People in the U.S. with MCL make up about .005% of the population.

Yes, Michael has always been a rare breed.  (And I mean that in the best of ways.)

Mantle Cell Lymphoma is on the government's Office of Rare Diseases list.  This list also includes many challenging diseases with unpronounceable names, as well as Michelin tire baby syndrome.   (I have never heard of this as a certifiable disease, but everyone used to call our next-door-neighbor's chubby little one a "Michelin tire kid".  Guess I should look up names before I go calling people diseases...)

***

Last weekend, the Denver Chalk Art Festival took place on a few downtown streets.  On Sunday, we drove into town and found ourselves a parking spot, then allowed the crowds to swallow us up.  I think that more than .005% of the population of the U.S. was there!

It had rained on Saturday, washing away the artists' work, so people were at it again on Sunday, re-creating their beautiful works.  I love the stunning in-your-face reminder of impermanence that chalk art and sand mandalas allow.

The Rare Breed himself.

 Objects in this photo are all impermanent, too.  Just made with the intention of lasting longer than chalk art.

This Is Not My Beautiful Blog

Letting the days go by...

- David Byrne

I don't know what Michael would write if he were to blog about the third party (MCL) in our marriage.  There are at least 1,294 editors in the room with me most of the time when I try to write a post.  Would Michael want me to write this?  Does anyone care about that?  Is this blog only for updating about Michael's "condition"?

I have no answers.

So I muddle along, experiencing the intensity of each moment and not knowing quite how to give voice to it.

This is what MCL is like for me:  Something about MCL penetrates a good amount of my waking hours.  Everything that we eat, the vegetables we juice, the pills and capsules Michael throws down his throat (a lot!), our qigong practice, the many times a day I ask Michael how he's feeling, the way I try to take care of as much as possible around here so that Michael can focus on healing and his job...

It's a strange dance.  I don't want to put a lot of energy into this addition to our marriage. No way is it allowed to grab more attention than the loving relationship that has grown here over the years.  Yet MCL needs to be tended to.  I would not be sad if it decided that three's a crowd and it needed to go, yet I love it for the sharp reminder of the preciousness of life.

Michael and I don't talk about it a whole lot, but it hiked with us last night as we walked among the wildflowers on Green Mountain. 

It heightens my experience of love and appreciation...

 ... for Michael...

 ... for this amazing world (You can see Red Rocks Ampitheater behind the first couple of ridges)...

... and for the kaleidoscope show of life, rising, showing its brilliancy, dissolving, and rising again and again and again..

Same as it ever was.
Same as it ever was.

Ya Gotta Know When To Fold 'em

We gave it a valiant effort.  We had committed to three hours of qigong a day for a hundred days.  At first, like all new things, it was energizing.  We seemed to actually need less sleep, which was a good thing, considering how intense it is to add three hours of something to already-filled days.

By day forty, it started to become apparent to me that the intensity was not sustainable.  I realized that as much good as I was getting from the practice, there was no way I would continue doing so many hours after the hundredth day.  It was only another three days or so before it became very apparent to me that we were already at the point where the healing of this qigong was possibly being offset by the exhaustion that we were experiencing.  When one person is trying to get healthy and the other is trying to stay healthy, rest is at the top of the list of necessary activities.

It wasn't easy for us to give up our goal.  We both have streaks of perfectionism.  We're both first children, and sometimes it seems that we have points to prove.  We've gotten over all that - at least in this instance.

We don't have our new rhythm yet, but now that I don't do every qigong exercise every day, I am realizing how much good each one does for me.  I want to incorporate them all into my life - just not all of them every day.

Meanwhile, Michael has been training a new assistant for the last three or four weeks. You know what that's like - lots more work in the hopes that it will pay off in the long run.  Hopefully, it's an investment that will soon allow him to have more time to take care of himself.

Because of the things I write (or don't write), you may be thinking that Michael is not overtly trying to rid his body of the cancer.  Au contraire!  Besides doing all he can in order to build up his immune system and overall health, Michael is doing some alternative things to rid his body of cancer cells.   I will not divulge these things for a number of reasons.  But rest assured that we have read tons of information, and Michael is taking the route that makes sense to him.

I admire Michael's unwavering commitment to his health.  He has given up some of the food he enjoys, along with his couple-of-times-a-week wine, and he has added stuff that is not so enjoyable.  He has surrounded himself with a large assortment of medical people.  Every one of them is impressed with his knowledge, his understanding, and his willingness to do what he's doing.

Yesterday, I hiked and ate and talked about life with friends.  Then it rained - a blessed moment when you live in Colorado -  and my son came over for dinner.  Before the day began, I had felt like there was too much to do and here I was, taking the day off.  After a day of play and an evening of rain, I was renewed.  Today I don't mind doing all of the things that yell to be done. 

It all comes and goes, doesn't it?

I am enjoying this pedestrian crossing sign that is near our house.  Someone, somehow turned off lights in it so that the correct fingers are "folded", making it say, "I love you" in American Sign Language.  

I love you, too!!!

Wildflowers

Like a field of spring wildflowers,
thoughts and emotions the colors of
scarlet, lapis, sunshine, and restful green
appear throughout my day.

What a strange gift
this last year has been.
Almost a year now since my organ
of digesting-and-letting-go went
berserk and I released a bit of it
to the surgeon's hands.
Last night while doing practice,
with heart wide open, Buddha dog
came to visit
- he's been "gone" nine months now -
and I cried as if, again, I was
kissing his nose for the
last time.  And Sunday,
Mother's Day, my family gathered
for dinner, my brother offering
thanks from the chair my dad
has now vacated.

Every morning,
I juice a pile of vegetables
for my beloved.
Like the words and feelings that wash through me
a hundred times a day,
like the wildflowers on Green Mountain
near my childhood home,
they, too, come in brilliant colors.
All here one moment,
seemingly solid, then in an instant,
zap!
transformed into a vital,
life-giving elixir of the gods.

How is YOUR La?

With this type of qigong that we have been practicing for the last month and a half, we do a lot of Haola-ing.  According to Mingtong Gu, the qigong master, "Haola" (pronounced kind of like "How La") means, "All is well.  So be it."

We chant "Haola" a LOT while doing our qigong.

I didn't immediately take to this All-is-well-ing.  I remember reading Pollyanna books when I was young.  Michael has been diagnosed with MCL.  Haola!  All is well!

Yeah.

But things have been shifting for me.  If I take my preferences out of the picture, all IS well.  I've been doing a lot of work in this arena over the past few years, practicing to see what lies beneath my preferences.  Yeah, more than once in the past three months, I've been caught up in my desires for how I would like my life to go, and my list hasn't included MCL or any kind of health issues for me or anyone I love.  But haola!  This movie was not written by me, and I can accept it or I can whine about it.  Accepting it seems to be a much more peaceful and helpful way to be.

I am grateful for all my teachers who have helped me to realize that there is an underlying open vastness and peacefulness that is the ground of everything, despite what appears as disease and unease.  I don't always recognize it immediately, but, so far, I seem to eventually find my way back to it.

Haola!

I know that many of you who read this are doing so as a means to keep updated on how Michael is doing.  He feels well.  He has not had any more tests, so all we know is that he feels well right now.  And he has better blood than me.  (Wah! about my bloodwork.  I mean, "Haola!")

Update & Thank Yous

Every year in April, Channel 9 News hosts health fairs all over the Denver area.  A lot of screenings are available for free, and, for a small fee, people can get blood work done.  That's what Michael and I go for - the blood work.  So a couple of weeks ago, we went and got punctured.

And the results are in!   Michael's results came out as good or better than mine in every single area.  Of course these are not tests targeting the indicators that would be looked at for any changes in MCL.

Still...

I'm very happy to come out in second place.

Michael is still feeling well.  At work he is training a new assistant.  We both continue to do three hours of qigong a day, and, every once in a while, we add in a nice walk together.  I love qigong, but our walks hold some of my favorite moments.

Thank you to M.B. (Michael's boss) for your understanding and support while we wade through these times.

And thank you to M.A.J. (Michael's Aunt Jane) for all of the "thinking of you" cards.

Every act of kindness is taken in and appreciated.

Jokes4Miles

You know how you go to one website looking for something and, somehow, three hours later you find yourself reading a site with no idea how you got there?  Well, somehow I happened upon the Jokes4Miles site. 

From the site:

"Miles has been battling brain cancer for over three years, now with a fourth recurrence, he is about to undergo an autologous stem cell transplant at LA Children’s Hospital. He will be in isolation, 2,000 miles from family and friends for months, that's why his Dad is asking folks around the world to send in 5,000 JOKES that he can watch online from his hospital room."

If you are needing a laugh - or at least a grin - you can watch videos of jokes that have been submitted by clicking here.  The lady with the politically incorrect cat was my favorite.

Or you can send Miles a joke, some music, or a well wish here.  I know that some of you are good with jokes.  At least you think you are - and that counts! 

Where is my little video cam?  This is way outside of my comfort range, but I'm going to do it.  I couldn't deliver a joke on a silver platter, but I can send some well wishes.

How about you???

Lessons Learned

I wonder... if the day we heard Michael's diagnosis, were I to be handed the following sage advice, would I take it in and act on it, instead of needing to learn the hard way?

Naaaaaahhhhh...

This is what I'm learning:

1.  To the best of your ability, keep doing all of the things that fill you up.  If hiking, writing, painting, and napping (or anything else) help you to experience well-being when life is fairly easy, those things will be even more important when you are under extra stress.  It doesn't always seem like there is the time or energy for these things.  Too bad.  Just do it.  It's not optional; it's necessity.

2.  You can't make it all better, so quit trying to carry the load.

3.  Digging in the dirt changes brain chemistry.  Spend time in the garden.

Cute little baby pea plants!

4.  Less than three months after your spouse gets an MCL diagnosis (or any other heavy-duty diagnosis) is probably not the best time to try to take yourself off of hormones.  But, go for it.  But don't come cryin' to me when your body thinks that you hate it and you find yourself breaking down just thinking of old people.

5.  If someone asks you about how your spouse is doing, then proceeds to say what they think about said spouse's choices, and THEN tells you scary stories about people who have or had cancer... RUN!  Or, you can announce early on:  "I support Michael in living his life the way he sees fit (doesn't everyone want and deserve that?), and I don't care to have a conversation about his diagnosis or treatment plan, thank you very much."

And if you are in the process of going off of your hormones when above situation occurs, so your emotions plummet even more so than they would normally, just go sit in the corner and talk to yourself.  No one will even consider asking you about Michael's treatment.

6.  Surround yourself with people who love you and support you in traversing this deep, rocky jungle with courage and in wonder.

7.  Remember the wonderful things that others do - the listening, caring, food-bringing, card-sending - and do those things for others.

8.  Remember that all of life is precious.  Be here now.  And do it your way.

Life Wants To Be

Despite the fact that we did all we could do (without using chemicals) in order to kill everything growing (due to a big weed problem) in one of our flower gardens, we have lots of tulips that show their brilliant reds and yellows every spring.  A peony plant, though much smaller than it was before the massacre, still pops up and gives us one or two fluffy pink petal balls.  And then there are the weeds...

Sometimes, we can't have life grow the way we want it to, but life wants to "be", and it does a very good job of doing that. I am always in awe of its tenacity.

Right now, we have a finch nest under one of our eaves on the wall of our screened-in porch.  The finches nest there most years.  And last weekend, we went to visit the Owl Family and, after waiting for a while, we finally saw a little, white puffball with a big eye peaking out from behind mama.  I didn't think that my camera was able to capture it, but upon closer inspection, I saw the little guy, eye and all.  It's circled below.  You can click on the photo to make it bigger.  This is posted especially for D (you know who you are).  Whoohoooo!