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...