How Did I Get Onto The Subject Of Bellies?

My belly is a road map of life-saving scars.  You would think that I would be so grateful for them that I wouldn't hesitate to wear the only swimsuit I have - a two-piece - but when my friend suggested we go to some hot springs, I hesitated, saying I would need to get a new swimsuit first.  Up until a year and a half ago, all my surgical scars were covered by this suit, but that last cut made a north-south Main street in the center of my belly, and it screams out, "Look at me!"  (At least that's what I hear.)

I'm still trying to figure out why I think I care about displaying the fine craftwomanship of my surgeon.  I think (but haven't polled anyone to find out) that people are uncomfortable seeing belly scars on women who could cover them up if they wanted to.  But there are people who are also uncomfortable with seeing homeless people and many people with disabilities.  And that doesn't mean that the homeless people or people with disabilities need to hide or cover themselves up.  And I guess it doesn't mean that I need to cover up my belly art.

Still, I feel a little wiggly about flaunting my imperfections.

(Oh, my, there are a few blog posts right there:  My Imperfections...  My Perfect Imperfections... As If You Can't See My Imperfections, No Matter What I Wear...  My Facial Wrinkles Are Invisible, But This Scar Is Flashing Neon!  What Is Perfect?  Is There Such a Thing As An Imperfection?  Can It All Be Perfect?  Are Perfect Scars Really Imperfections?  How Would You Like It If Someone Called Your Work An "Imperfection"!  I AM Beautiful and Perfect - And So Are You!)

Dharma has a new scar on her belly that looks a lot like mine.  But she still stretches out on her back, baring her perfect scar and going completely orgasmic when someone is willing to rub her sweet tummy.  She has no inhibitions about her incision at all.  But then, she also poops out in the middle of the backyard.  While people are watching.  I guess I can't completely compare myself to Dharma...

On the Facebook list for spouses and partners of people with MCL, a woman recently announced that her husband is no longer on Watch and Wait.  A scan indicated growth of the cancer.  I am the only one on the list whose spouse/partner is doing such extraordinary alternative measures.  Maybe, hopefully, the course Michael is taking will put off, indefinitely, any need for coming off of Watch and Wait.  Or it will make Watch and Wait something that can be forgotten, only a memory of a life-changing time.

Anyway, the woman I was talking about - her husband is having a colonoscopy as I type this.  They are checking to see if the cancer is in his colon - a place where MCL likes to take up residence.  The woman posted as she was waiting for her husband's procedure to be done.  She wrote that she was praying like she had never prayed before.  I happened to be on the computer the moment that her comment posted, and I told her I was joining her in prayer.  I really meant it.  I stopped.  I prayed.  Oh, how intimate it can be to pray for someone else, even if we don't know where they are and even if we've never met!  While in the midst of connecting to this woman and her situation, I saw how supported she is.  I could see how much strength she has.

And then I realized that I, too, am completely supported and my very essence is a core of amazing strength.

This last year has pushed me to draw upon that strength.  Hey!  Maybe there is even enough courage in here to be able to calmly and confidently and gratefully wear my bathing suit sometime!

I won't post photos.

Or maybe I will.

Dharma-ism for today:

 THIS is all that matters.

(Dharma and friend, Lisa, loving it up.)

Benchmarks Along The Way

We're coming upon a year since Michael's diagnosis.  How do I, the person who hardly does dates, know this?  Because Michael's birthday is in a week and a half.  I still have the cellular memory of the sights, sounds, and smells of the hospital waiting room where I sat while Michael underwent a lymph node biopsy on his 50th birthday.  I remember the voices on the television screen that was bolted onto the wall declaring over and over again that the approaching snowstorm would be a doozy.  The woman across the room was talking to the strangers next to her about her fears of driving in the snow.  But I can't remember if the storm lived up to the predictions or not.

I can still access the heavy anticipation that hung around me like a cloud for seven days while waiting for biopsy results and then the sinking of my stomach at the sound of Michael's voice telling me the diagnosis. 

Now I sit at my computer.  It's sunny.  Warm for a January day.  Michael is readying himself for work.  This past year has not brought what I expected.  Not the "normal" life (whatever that is) that I expected before the words, Mantle Cell Lymphoma, were introduced.  But, also, none of the days of chemo, etc., that I thought would be the instant result of the diagnosis.  

I don't know anything about life.  It just happens in all of its profundity and beauty and scariness and love and sickness and other ways in which we have not yet invented words to describe.  I am at its mercy.  And it does seem to be full of mercy.  

***

In Dharma news...  Right now, the little girl is getting spayed.  We weighed her when we got to the vet's:  38.8 pounds.  When she came into our home and hearts, just three months ago, she weighed a little over 18 pounds.  Our little puppy is becoming a dog!

The night we brought Dharma home.

Last night (almost three months after adoption and the night before the big spay).

It's Always Nice To Make Someone's Day

Jeff-The-Awesome-Oncologist to Michael:

"It makes my day to see how well you're doing.  See you in three months."

Can't say much about that, except...

Way to go Mikey!

We love you, 
Your two bestest girlfriends

Photo credit to Michael.

And This

Dharma is sleeping beside me.  She is on her side, and her neck is bent so that her head is upside down.  That makes her mouth gape a little, and it looks like she's smiling.

Did I ever write that I love this dog???

Dharma's cough is still here, but some playfulness has returned to the girl.  This past Saturday was the final test at dog training.  That didn't happen.  And tomorrow was to be spay day, but that also won't be happening.

I have not been feeling so fine, either.  There is a revolt going on in my gut - maybe from the Aleve that I took to quell the inflammation in my back that started when Dharma barreled into me causing a myriad of spasms the day before we were to leave for California.

But did I ever write about how much I love this dog???

When I lie in bed at night, surfing the waves of nausea, I also notice how much resistance I have to doing things like, for instance, going to a doctor.

 Fascinating evenings and nights as I ride the waves.

I come by my lack of enthusiasm for going to doctors honestly.  I did not come from a family that contributed much to the college funds of its physicians.  (My family didn't visit the veterinarian often, either, but somehow I am doing just that.  I never claimed consistency).  There is a reason that I changed my mind from wanting to become a nurse to choosing massage therapy.  I have the UTMOST respect for nurses.  When I was hospitalized a year and a half ago (see, I DO sometimes allow myself to be seen and helped by doctors), I adored my nurses.  Some of them were actually angels, I swear.  But I know myself, and while I deeply respect the rights of everyone to pursue health in whatever way they want, I'm better off, whenever possible, staying away from much of what modern medicine dictates.  That's just the way it is.

And this gives me renewed pause for thinking about Michael and his decisions regarding how best to handle the cancer.  I truly "get" his resistance to going the oncology route. We are much alike.
 
Last night, I saw how hard it was for Michael to watch me feel bad while not looking like I'm doing anything about it other than lying in bed and letting the waves have me.  He wanted me to do SOMETHING.  So today I'm doing something (that doesn't include the kind of person who prescribes invasive tests or any pharmaceuticals), because I also "get" how hard it is to watch someone not doing the things that you might, in your fearful thinking and heartfelt love for the other, want them to do.

Did I ever write about how much I love that man???


Dharmaisms for today: 

When the love of naps overcomes the love of power the world will know peace. (Jimi had it wrong.)

Naps are their own reward. - (What Gandhi really meant to say.)

Back in the Saddle Again

Came home last night from a week of rest and rehab in California.
The vacation, planned three months ago,
was to have been a post-Christmas visit to my daughter's.
All kinds of fun possibilities were considered in our plans:
painting, games, snowshoeing...
Instead,  many of the waking hours
(for humans and grand-dogs) were
spent in horizontal or near-horizontal positions.
Back spasms, colds, digestive chaos, a traumatized dew claw...
It was largely a time of kindly accepting our physical limitations, of being
one with the couch and bed, of basking in the homeyness that Daughter
has created so many miles away.

But I was with my family - Michael, Son, Daughter -
and all was good.
Do you know the last time I spent a week with my whole family?
Me either.

And then we came home
to
a very sick Dharma.
Sicker than a dog.
(What the hell does THAT mean?)

At the emergency vet a couple of hours after
putting down our bags,
x-rays and meds would cost us
enough to pay for flying back to California
again to try for a healthier week.
Assured that Dharma would probably survive the night,
we instead paid enough to get 1/3 of the way to California and back,
and left with nothing other than the knowledge of Yes, she's sick.
In 45 minutes, we will have a trip to the doggie docs who are fast becoming
members of our family.

This morning, as I entertained the possibility of never
interrupting the quiet, warm, enveloping goodness of my bed
by actually getting out of it for any reason,
I had to laugh at the way we humans have opinions
about how things should be.
It can be a fun diversion sometimes,
but oftentimes, it's just painful.
Setting aside for just a moment
the way I think I would like it all to be,
I notice that the way Life does itself is not only very entertaining
in and of itself,
it's also strikingly precious.

Even if I could,
I wouldn't change a thing.

 Tulip at Daughter's house.  Daughter always adds beautiful touches to home and to life.

Dharma talk for today:  It's okay to appreciate dog pees in the house and dog chews on the hands, because when they are replaced with a dog-tired dog coughing up a lung, you just might miss all of that energy.

Post-vet-visit update:  After a visit to the vet - with no x-rays needed - Dharma is here, sleeping (and coughing away) on antibiotics.  Her mom and dad will nurse her back to health with lots of love and ooohing and awwwing.