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Only human. (expect me to err)

So, I’m aware I’ve broken my initial promise about this blog. Though I’d resolved to write at least once a week, it’s been a few minutes short of 10 days. And still, I don’t know what to write — but not for lack of content.

Where do I start?

Ok, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to post the condensed version first. Then hopefully tomorrow, or Saturday at least, I’ll bury it with something happier, though some of the following is wonderfully happy. But most is less than cheerful.

So, here’s what the last week has entailed:

  • Thurs. 4/17
    • 8:30 am – Mom calls to say Grandpap had been moved the day before from the hospital (where he’d been for over 2 weeks) to an assisted living facility for further recovery. Unfortunately, they didn’t “assist his living” so well and allowed his bloodsugar to drop dangerously low, resulting in him being taken by paramedics to the ICU. His heart was only functioning at 15%
    • 9 am – 5:45 pm – work at the office. Of course, I was planning on leaving at 5 on the dot, but the projects had been piled on that day, so I had to stay late instead of leaving early.
    • 5:50 pm – After a speedy change of clothes, I dashed to the car to drive to the concert, still hoping to get there about 6:45. Instead, I hit traffic, followed bad directions, followed more bad directions, drove around way more than necessary because of bad stupid google directions to BFE, not the concert venue. Called my husband no less than 6 times trying to get to where I needed to be. Screamed out of frustration while driving. Oh, and somewhere in there I hit a chick-fil-a drive-thru for dinner.
    • 7:28 pm – I finally arrive & jump out of the car, dash to pick up my ticket and get my butt inside. I saw Jason heading in (grey stocking cap and all) from the bus right before I did, so I figured I couldn’t be too late. (The show was to start at 7:30.)
    • 7:30-11-ish pm – I did my crazy geeky white-girl-with-no-rhythm “dance” and totally was that girl that Jason talks about on the Schubas “Did You Get My Message” audience participation track — that girl who just would not shut up! And I had no shame. (Apologies to anyone around me, really… sorta.)
    • 11 – 11:45 pm – Got a hug & a photo op from Billy, and he signed his cd for me as well as the Fire Relief cd. (He seemed happy to see I’d gotten that one.) Also bought the Makepeace Brother’s cd & got them to sign that. I headed down toward my car and the bus, and got to steal a hug from Toca & talked with him a little. They all seemed tired after the show. Then Jason peeked his head out of the bus & offered to take pictures as long as they were group shots. Not being part of a group, and not wanting to be just another picture to endure, I left a copy of SMR #2 with Toca, who agreed to give it to Jason, and I headed home.
    • 11:45-12:30 – The drive home was easier, but not without missed turns. I’ll admit, though, that I was talking with my mom, catching up on Grandpap’s condition and other things.
    • When I got home, DH was waiting up for me, though I told him he didn’t have to. It took me a while to unwind before bed, something like 2 am I think.
  • Friday 4/18 – The bigger munchkin (almost 4 now) came down with Chicken Pox. Nuff said.
  • Saturday 4/19 – My brother had his Eagle Scout Ceremony in PA. I had been holding out hope until the last minute that I might be able to work out coming up for it. The chicken pox thing dashed the last of that. I hear it went really well.
  • Sunday 4/20 – We went to church separately, due to the poxed child. That, and the 3 mystery shops I did, broke up the day a lot.
  • Monday 4/21 – I determined that chicken pox are a headache. I went into work for 2 hours before resuming watch of the diseased one.
  • Tuesday 4/22 – Ditto previous. But thank goodness for small gifts: wonderful, lovely “Details in the Fabric” single release… something to listen to while feeling sorry for myself. ha.
  • Wednesday 4/23 – Kiddo went back to school. The little one has not caught the itchies this time around, though there’s still a few more days before that’s definite.
  • Thursday 4/24 – Mom called to say Grandpap’s taken a bad turn. His heart still is only functioning at 15%, his kidneys are failing, his bloodsugar won’t stay up, and he has some kind of infection – probably pneumonia. It’s a matter of hours, days at best — or worst, depending.

So now, I’m trying to figure out how & when to go up to PA. Should I plan on getting an overpriced plane ticket? Or drive 1000 miles round trip? should I go now? or wait until he dies?

Really, that’s where I’m at right now.

I want last Thursday night back.

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not a happy bouncy post.

Cancer.

It’s a recurring theme in my poetry and what my hypochondriac-in-denial self is sure to die from, if I don’t die of a heart attack or in a car crash first.

The thought of it scares the crap out of me, turns my insides to mush, makes my throat tight. And that’s when I think of someone else having it.

At the same time, I think I romanticize it in my head. Not that there’s anything romantic about damaged cells going haywire, slowly overpowering a person’s body from the inside out; nor is there a damned thing that’s romantic about chemo or multiple surgeries or any of the other miserable things that cancer can bring. But with any serious illness, there’s inevitably a bit of “do not go gentle…rage, rage” Dylan Thomesque romanticism.

I heard a bit on the radio last week about how cancer survival rates are steadily improving. This does not stop me from imagining a mole on my shoulder is mutating or getting sick over a lump in my chest that was just a cyst.

Cancer freaks me out. I don’t drink pop anymore because of being paranoid about how the damage the acidity does & the free radicals the sugar creates. So everything is water or something with antioxidants or vitamins in it. Lots of antioxidants. Borderline obsession here. (In some nostalgic way, I feel sad that my kids probably won’t know what it’s like to down a quart of red Kool-aid in 30 seconds flat after running around outside on a summer day. I’ll make them drink, I don’t know, guava juice instead. That could get expensive. Still.)

The first person I remember dying was a classmate of mine in first grade. He was hardly there. And when he was, he got to wear his ball cap in class; he was bald from the chemo. I never really got to know him, but he was in our class picture at least. I think it was right at the end of the school year that Brian died of Leukemia.

About two and a half years later, my maternal grandmother went to the hospital. A short couple weeks later, we were at her funeral. At 59 years old, she had died of colon cancer that had spread too far before it was caught.

Not too long after that friend of the family died of a brain tumor. I think he was in his mid 30’s.

A few months back, a close friend was dealing with a cancer scare. The worst part about it for me was that I had no idea how to “be there for her.” I had no clue what to say or do. Any time the thought came up, I felt like retching. Other people have “survivor stories” to share, but for me, “cancer” means “death.” Even if it doesn’t.

Tonight at church, I found out someone who means a great deal to me & my family, someone who is a key reason why we live in the city we do, is going in for surgery on Wednesday to have a tumor removed from his colon. There are also spots on the liver that need to be checked out. The whole scenario is too eerily similar to my grandmother’s story. I haven’t been right since church.

So, do me a personal favor, will ya? Pray, meditate, send good karma his way on Wednesday and for his recovery thereafter. I trust God knows what He’s doing, but happy thoughts can’t hurt, right?

“Don’t you know we are immortal
until our work is done?”

~ missionary Ruth Thompson
as quoted by Ellen Vaughn
in her book, Time Peace
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Fierce belief: gift or poison?

So I’m reading stuff on www.iusedtobelieve.comand I can’t help but think of the whole Santa disillusionment for me. I mean, that happened when I was 9, and I still have issues with it… I still feel bitter about how I found out, etc. I guess I just needed something to hold onto then.

Can you all keep a secret? Because I’m about to share something that has the potential to be incredibly embarrassing. I was so naive… here goes…

So that year when I was 9, mom was pregnant with my brother & my grandma was dying of cancer. It seemed like forever that Grandma was in the hospital, but I learned later that it was only a span of about 2 weeks between when she went in and when she passed away. That was in September. Anyhow, so less than 2 months after Grandma died, my brother was born. (That was the beginning of November.) So there was a lot going on in my 9-yr-old life.
Meanwhile, I still was a strong believer in the Bearded One. When the Debates would take place on the bus rides home from school, I couldn’t help but argue his existence. (I guess it didn’t help that I truly believed that one of our bus drivers was Santa himself… but that’s another story altogether.) But not only did I believe Santa’s existence, I believed that he had a special connection to God, heaven, and all things divine. I mean, I knew Santa was “St. Nicholas,” and nothing short of a miracle would allow him to do what he did each year. So God Himself had to be in on the deal.

With that in mind, should it be any kind of surprise that I thought that he would be able to pass a message on to my deceased grandmother? I had written a letter to her on my good stationery and tucked it away to stick in my stocking on Christmas eve. Now, for years prior, my sister and I would make cards and such for Santa and stick them in our stockings before Christmas — when he went to fill them he would find them. And Mom and Dad knew about those, so it was ok to put them in early in December. But this letter had to wait until Christmas eve: I didn’t want Mom to find out about it. But Christmas Eve came and went too quickly, and so I forgot. I didn’t worry too much though… because I knew he didn’t just work on Christmas: he made the rounds too for St. Nicholas’ Day and for Little Christmas. So as long as I put it in my stocking on the eve of Little Christmas he would get it.

Mom told me right after New Year’s (right after I went back to school) the truth about Santa. I won’t go into details about that here or now because that’s not what this entry’s about. But the short of it is that I learned the truth before I put that letter out for Santa. I guess I’m thankful for that — I would have felt so embarrassed, and I’m willing to bet it would have been hard for mom to deal with then. I felt so broken though. Heck, as I write this, I still hold back tears. blah.

now remember… that all is a secret though. Right?

Sure.