I was eating Jelly Bellies with Brett today after a nice long walk and talk. We were sneaking them as sugar is his enemy but you've also gotta live and it's nearly Easter. I hate buttered popcorn jelly beans. Popcorn is one of my favorite snacks but it is absolutely not meant to be chewy. I grabbed several Jelly Bellies and the last one was buttered popcorn. I grabbed for a nice cinnamon one because the popcorn flavored one had left such a bad taste in my mouth.
My last post left the same kind of bad taste in my mouth and I've been wanting to write again quickly and share a yummy flavor of life. I'm not often good at liking myself but I do honestly like how I've aged at times. I can be very down and negative but I let it go so much more quickly now at my advancing age. I'm able to put it behind me- truly put it behind me- and move on. Forgiveness is extended and life goes on. I also have a better perspective and I really do find myself trying to see things from another's point of view. Life isn't always about me and how I perceive things may not be how they truly are. I've come a long way. So, last week is over- hurts are gone and I'm all about fresh starts and new beginnings.
I was born with a bad back. As a child I was diagnosed with scoliosis and my hips were very uneven. I remember the horrors of facing the start of middle school and wearing a lift in my shoe to even my hips. The lift only fit in what seemed to me were the ugliest shoes available. Needless to say, I didn't wear it faithfully. In college a friend introduced me to running. I found a release for stress and some thinking, praying, reflecting time. I loved it. In my late 30's I began to have many back issues. Honestly, I've never had a back ache. All of my problems were lower lumbar and I had left leg aches and pains, my old friend sciatica. I ruptured a disc and had a laminectomy that held me for two years until I ruptured another one. The first rupture was when I was playing with my dog and I jumped at her. I felt it instantly. The second was when I was in bed with a horrible cold. I sat up and sneezed, looked at Brett, and said, "I just ruptured a disc". All in all I have had 6 surgeries on my back and numerous injections for pain. I had a lumbar fusion with brackets and six screws. One of the screws was deep and began to hit a nerve so I had surgery to have the hardware removed. I have the screws. I put one on a chain to wear once in awhile under my clothes as a reminder of my journey.
Throughout my back struggles running was hit or miss. I would try to get back to it but symptoms always put an end to it. All of my nerve damage was related to my left leg and there were days that I did not know if I would walk from my bed to the bathroom. I had numbness and pain and a drop foot. I would get brief episodes of relief but full relief did not come until the hardware was removed a few years ago. I felt like a new person. I began to run.
On Sept. 11, 2010, I went out and ran 12 miles. I am terribly slow so it took me an eternity but it felt so good. I remember the sunshine, the song on my ipod when I hit mile 12, my steady breathing. I was training for a half marathon and I was elated to have made it that far. I finished, walked, and stretched. Later that afternoon my knee felt a bit stiff. By that evening I could not bend it and couldn't bear to put weight on it. I did all the right things but days later I sought out a sports injury doctor in an effort to make the half marathon in October. He was, and still is, a lifesaver. He worked and worked with me and referred me on when he couldn't help any longer. Last May I had knee surgery. They didn't really know what they were going to find- MRI's were not clear as to the problem. It was my medial plica (some people don't even have one). It had become inflamed and was making the cartilage angry. It was removed and the orthopedic doc told me that he usually tells a lot of patients to give up running after surgery. In my case the knee looked very healthy and he saw no reason why I couldn't run. I tried right away and the knee just did not want to cooperate. I took the winter off running.
With Brett's recurrence of cancer I knew I would need some stress relief so I attempted to start running again. I have been enjoying some great runs while he is sleeping during treatments. This morning I ran a little over 3 miles to a local park. With every step I was composing this blog entry. What I discovered while running this morning is that I am a miracle. I have had a total of 14 surgeries in my lifetime. I have had screws in my back. I have a two level lumbar fusion. I had to rebuild the strength in my left leg so I was not lopsided. I had to learn to walk again (twice!) without limping. I have a muscle in my calf that shows no nerve conduction and I had to work to strengthen the others around it. There were days I could not walk. I can run. I'm not fast but I never was. I can run. Wow! I am a miracle. Some might say I'm crazy and I won't dispute that butI am a miracle. I used to rest in the fact that one day I was promised to "run and not grow weary" (that verse was written for me) but this morning I praised that I can run and get weary. What a gift I have been given. How blessed I am.
I believe in blessings and I believe in miracles. I have experienced both in my lifetime. I know healing is possible. I have lived it. I know Brett can also experience healing and that this long journey can have a very welcome and exciting finish line. I just needed to go for a run and remember my own journey. We've been carried through so much and we'll continue to be carried along. Heck, maybe we'll even break into a jog from time to time.
There, that tastes much better!
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Thursday, March 29, 2012
A Coffee Cozy and a Kick in the Teeth
This post has been brewing in my mind for days. I process things by writing about them but I have been feeling quite raw and did not know what to do with my emotions and thoughts and didn't feel like being open and human and vulnerable. I follow a young lady who has struggled with cancer and her parents shared a video on her site. The video is a man sharing his story of losing his daughter. It is raw and accurately described so many things I've been feeling lately. It isn't pretty or beautiful yet it touched something inside of me and was exactly what I needed to hear. It brought me healing to hear someone else share the ugly. I needed the raw and honest and humanity tonight. Then it occurred to me that others may need that, too. After much prayer and reflection I am going to share the ugly and beautiful that is juxtaposed within my life these days.
They tell you as a caregiver to ask for help. I hear this repeatedly. I read this repeatedly. I'm not good at it. After all, asking for help shows weakness. Even though I believe that to rob someone of any opportunity to help robs them of the joy they receive, I still hear the small voice inside of me that says it makes me a burden to them. I rarely ask for help. Last week I found myself at the end of my rope ( a perfect metaphor because I felt like I was dangling off a cliff about to tumble into the abyss of insanity). I just wasn't handling life well. I needed to ask someone for help. I agonized over it for days. Finally, I worked up the courage to ask. I had no other option. I asked. I received the socially expected response for someone in my situation. "Of course, anything!". This was a request of someone I considered a friend whom I deeply respected. To say that this person did not honor my request would be an understatement. They actually, probably unknowingly, made the situation much worse and added to my stress. I was injured. I was so sad. I was disappointed. I tried to put it into words for Brett. Finally, I told him it was as if I had been kicked in the teeth. Yes, that's exactly what it was like. Wow, it hurt. It caught me by surprise. Having had extensive dental work I know that when teeth are shifted and replaced your entire bite changes and you have to adjust how you chew and even how you talk. This experience is causing me to adjust and heal and change. I had to exercise forgiveness. I had to move forward. I'm working on putting it behind me. I'm trying to get over the gut reaction. I said I'd be human and raw- if someone kicks you in the teeth you really want to kick them back even harder. It's a human reaction and I had it. It didn't last but I had it. I believe I used the word "assault" a few times. I'm in the process of healing and learning to move on. I'm also trying not to be bitter and closed off. For several days I have really not wanted to interact or talk with anyone. I think I've been afraid my emotions would flow freely and I'd never be able to reign them back in. I expected the tidy request/response scenario. It didn't happen. I expected this person to know me well enough to realize I would never ask for something unless it was absolutely necessary and I was very serious. They did not. They played upon my vulnerabilities and loyalties and made my situation much worse. Even as I write this it is hard to say that I will ask for help again any time soon. I worry that people think I'm seeking pity. I worry that it somehow diminishes my efforts to help others. I worry that people just get tired of hearing about cancer and its struggles. It's a downer. That's just honesty and humanity and I'm trying to own it, put it out there, and work through it.
I do believe that life is always about balance. To balance my life and my post I have to share another event this week. In the midst of the hurt and anger and bitterness and sadness a dear friend came to my office (even though I didn't want to be with anyone and I'm ever so glad she did it anyway!). She asked if there was anything she could do. My friend is a knitter. Earlier that morning I had watched a young woman at Starbucks refuse a cardboard sleeve for her coffee cup and pull the cutest knitted sleeve out of her pocket to slide around her cup. I coveted it. So, I told my friend I needed one of the cool coffee things. She was quick to oblige and presented me with a beautiful coffee cozy. A cozy- it hugs your coffee cup. At the risk of sounding corny- every time I use it I feel like I'm getting a hug, too. In the middle of one of the worst weeks of this journey something small provided such warmth and restored my faith in humanity.
It's been a tough few weeks. Today was a weekly chemo treatment and we had a balance of good news and bad news. I am weary. My heart is heavy. This is not a journey for the faint of heart. I'm needing to "re"- rebalance, refocus, rejuvenate. A long road lies ahead. I'm trying to get back to seeing the blessings. I'm trying to remember the amazing friends we have who want to help. I'm trying to remember that all of this- even the ugly- happens for a reason and growing and changing is often painful. Life can be ugly. I'm trying to give myself permission to feel that way from time to time. This is just one on of those times and this, too, shall pass.
They tell you as a caregiver to ask for help. I hear this repeatedly. I read this repeatedly. I'm not good at it. After all, asking for help shows weakness. Even though I believe that to rob someone of any opportunity to help robs them of the joy they receive, I still hear the small voice inside of me that says it makes me a burden to them. I rarely ask for help. Last week I found myself at the end of my rope ( a perfect metaphor because I felt like I was dangling off a cliff about to tumble into the abyss of insanity). I just wasn't handling life well. I needed to ask someone for help. I agonized over it for days. Finally, I worked up the courage to ask. I had no other option. I asked. I received the socially expected response for someone in my situation. "Of course, anything!". This was a request of someone I considered a friend whom I deeply respected. To say that this person did not honor my request would be an understatement. They actually, probably unknowingly, made the situation much worse and added to my stress. I was injured. I was so sad. I was disappointed. I tried to put it into words for Brett. Finally, I told him it was as if I had been kicked in the teeth. Yes, that's exactly what it was like. Wow, it hurt. It caught me by surprise. Having had extensive dental work I know that when teeth are shifted and replaced your entire bite changes and you have to adjust how you chew and even how you talk. This experience is causing me to adjust and heal and change. I had to exercise forgiveness. I had to move forward. I'm working on putting it behind me. I'm trying to get over the gut reaction. I said I'd be human and raw- if someone kicks you in the teeth you really want to kick them back even harder. It's a human reaction and I had it. It didn't last but I had it. I believe I used the word "assault" a few times. I'm in the process of healing and learning to move on. I'm also trying not to be bitter and closed off. For several days I have really not wanted to interact or talk with anyone. I think I've been afraid my emotions would flow freely and I'd never be able to reign them back in. I expected the tidy request/response scenario. It didn't happen. I expected this person to know me well enough to realize I would never ask for something unless it was absolutely necessary and I was very serious. They did not. They played upon my vulnerabilities and loyalties and made my situation much worse. Even as I write this it is hard to say that I will ask for help again any time soon. I worry that people think I'm seeking pity. I worry that it somehow diminishes my efforts to help others. I worry that people just get tired of hearing about cancer and its struggles. It's a downer. That's just honesty and humanity and I'm trying to own it, put it out there, and work through it.
I do believe that life is always about balance. To balance my life and my post I have to share another event this week. In the midst of the hurt and anger and bitterness and sadness a dear friend came to my office (even though I didn't want to be with anyone and I'm ever so glad she did it anyway!). She asked if there was anything she could do. My friend is a knitter. Earlier that morning I had watched a young woman at Starbucks refuse a cardboard sleeve for her coffee cup and pull the cutest knitted sleeve out of her pocket to slide around her cup. I coveted it. So, I told my friend I needed one of the cool coffee things. She was quick to oblige and presented me with a beautiful coffee cozy. A cozy- it hugs your coffee cup. At the risk of sounding corny- every time I use it I feel like I'm getting a hug, too. In the middle of one of the worst weeks of this journey something small provided such warmth and restored my faith in humanity.
It's been a tough few weeks. Today was a weekly chemo treatment and we had a balance of good news and bad news. I am weary. My heart is heavy. This is not a journey for the faint of heart. I'm needing to "re"- rebalance, refocus, rejuvenate. A long road lies ahead. I'm trying to get back to seeing the blessings. I'm trying to remember the amazing friends we have who want to help. I'm trying to remember that all of this- even the ugly- happens for a reason and growing and changing is often painful. Life can be ugly. I'm trying to give myself permission to feel that way from time to time. This is just one on of those times and this, too, shall pass.
Friday, March 16, 2012
Pity Party
A pity party is not a party at all- there are no balloons, no loud music, no decorations.... After an exhaustive (5 minute) search I have not been able to locate the origin of the name of this event. I have found some creative definitions and I can personally confirm that feeling sorry for yourself does not involve festivities. In fact, it brings isolation.
Last week I had myself a pity party. I think the reality and brevity of our situation really sunk in on so many levels. The long road ahead felt endless. Bills began to pour in and I don't really think that is a metaphor as one day the mailbox was filled to overflowing and a few literally poured to the ground. Side effects from chemo medications arrived- we knew they were coming, they still took me by surprise as if we would somehow be immune to them. I did what I know I should not do and read medical journals about metastasized colon cancer and treatment success and recurrence rates. Those are numbers, we are humans. My head knows this, my heart has a difficult time rationalizing it. Then, of course, I get angry- as if a five year survival rate is something to be celebrated- what are they thinking? Five years is but a drop in the bucket. Where are those 20-30 year survival rates? Why aren't they publishing and celebrating those? Who cares about five years- give me the 40 more we want.
Suddenly, I was five years old- stomping my feet (literally and figuratively) and rolling up in a ball and feeling oh so sorry for myself. To show my advancing age and to quote my mother, "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm going to eat some worms." I'm going to have to investigate that one further, too. Who eats worms, other than gummy worms, when they are sad? But, I think if someone had told me they'd make me feel better I would have eaten a bucket full. These types of behaviors and moods and feelings don't make anyone want to be around so they lead to isolation. This further feeds the pity- I began to feel very alone.
I know you are hoping for some beautiful clean wrap up to this painfully honest confession but I don't know if I have mastered how to avoid the pity party- turns out I'm quite an events planner. What I do know is that yesterday, in the midst of my husband's birthday marathon chemo treatment, I turned a corner. I had been praying- doing lots and lots of praying. Lord, please restore my balance, my hope, my faith. He never answers with a lightning bolt- drives me crazy. In fact, this is probably going to offend someone out there but I believe we see God's image in that of our father on Earth and I fully believe God finds great humor in me. He sees what is unfolding, I see what is right in front of me at the moment. I bet I crack him up when I stomp my feet. I think God laughs and I think I bring him great joy these days.
I have been so focused on my amazing pity party that I wasn't even seeing what was going on around me. God decided to stop laughing at me and step in and help me out in a gentle loving way; A random text from a friend, an email from another, a friend of Brett's showing up to take him to lunch in the nick of time, a t-shirt I can't wait to order (I'm with the bald hottie), mountain views, baby calves chasing after Mama, sunshine, walks, laughter. My son's baseball sponsorships falling into place so quickly- he raised $600 of the $1000 he needs in a matter of days this week. My daughter's wedding materials all over my spare bedroom like a wedding whirlwind hit. A new son-in-law that we adore who puts up with our craziness somehow. He's definitely a keeper.
And, a birthday! Brett had a birthday! Yesterday it finally hit me how monumental that is. We were blessed with another year. Brett's initial cancer diagnosis was extremely serious. I could have lost him three years ago. Brett's recurrence was extremely serious. I could have lost him a few months ago. We had a birthday yesterday! Wow, no pity party- how can you feel sorry about that? It's all a matter of perspective.
So, pity parties are not at all festive. They are ugly and sad and useless. I'll have more but I'll try to make them shorter so I can move on to celebrate the important things in life that truly deserve a party. In fact, I'm thinking of throwing an impromptu "Glad to be Alive" party soon. Time to celebrate.
Last week I had myself a pity party. I think the reality and brevity of our situation really sunk in on so many levels. The long road ahead felt endless. Bills began to pour in and I don't really think that is a metaphor as one day the mailbox was filled to overflowing and a few literally poured to the ground. Side effects from chemo medications arrived- we knew they were coming, they still took me by surprise as if we would somehow be immune to them. I did what I know I should not do and read medical journals about metastasized colon cancer and treatment success and recurrence rates. Those are numbers, we are humans. My head knows this, my heart has a difficult time rationalizing it. Then, of course, I get angry- as if a five year survival rate is something to be celebrated- what are they thinking? Five years is but a drop in the bucket. Where are those 20-30 year survival rates? Why aren't they publishing and celebrating those? Who cares about five years- give me the 40 more we want.
Suddenly, I was five years old- stomping my feet (literally and figuratively) and rolling up in a ball and feeling oh so sorry for myself. To show my advancing age and to quote my mother, "Nobody loves me, everybody hates me, I'm going to eat some worms." I'm going to have to investigate that one further, too. Who eats worms, other than gummy worms, when they are sad? But, I think if someone had told me they'd make me feel better I would have eaten a bucket full. These types of behaviors and moods and feelings don't make anyone want to be around so they lead to isolation. This further feeds the pity- I began to feel very alone.
I know you are hoping for some beautiful clean wrap up to this painfully honest confession but I don't know if I have mastered how to avoid the pity party- turns out I'm quite an events planner. What I do know is that yesterday, in the midst of my husband's birthday marathon chemo treatment, I turned a corner. I had been praying- doing lots and lots of praying. Lord, please restore my balance, my hope, my faith. He never answers with a lightning bolt- drives me crazy. In fact, this is probably going to offend someone out there but I believe we see God's image in that of our father on Earth and I fully believe God finds great humor in me. He sees what is unfolding, I see what is right in front of me at the moment. I bet I crack him up when I stomp my feet. I think God laughs and I think I bring him great joy these days.
I have been so focused on my amazing pity party that I wasn't even seeing what was going on around me. God decided to stop laughing at me and step in and help me out in a gentle loving way; A random text from a friend, an email from another, a friend of Brett's showing up to take him to lunch in the nick of time, a t-shirt I can't wait to order (I'm with the bald hottie), mountain views, baby calves chasing after Mama, sunshine, walks, laughter. My son's baseball sponsorships falling into place so quickly- he raised $600 of the $1000 he needs in a matter of days this week. My daughter's wedding materials all over my spare bedroom like a wedding whirlwind hit. A new son-in-law that we adore who puts up with our craziness somehow. He's definitely a keeper.
And, a birthday! Brett had a birthday! Yesterday it finally hit me how monumental that is. We were blessed with another year. Brett's initial cancer diagnosis was extremely serious. I could have lost him three years ago. Brett's recurrence was extremely serious. I could have lost him a few months ago. We had a birthday yesterday! Wow, no pity party- how can you feel sorry about that? It's all a matter of perspective.
So, pity parties are not at all festive. They are ugly and sad and useless. I'll have more but I'll try to make them shorter so I can move on to celebrate the important things in life that truly deserve a party. In fact, I'm thinking of throwing an impromptu "Glad to be Alive" party soon. Time to celebrate.
Monday, March 12, 2012
Settling In...
When I think of something settling I think of a snow globe. You shake it up and it's complete chaos but soon calm sets in and all the snow particles settle into place at the bottom very still. I also think we use the term "settling" to define resigning to a relationship (She settled for him in fear of being an old maid). To settle is to put something into place and accept its position. Once something is settled the chaos has ended, the snow particles stop flying and there is calm or sad resignation.
The other day I was speaking to someone about Brett's treatment schedule. We have completed two weekly chemo treatments and we have twenty two ahead of us. Of these twenty two, eleven have the potential to make him very ill. This person said to me, "You've been quiet- haven't posted an update, haven't written a blog, haven't talked much about it all. You both must be settling in for the long journey." I think up to that point I had been thinking the very same thing- we need to settle in and get through.
Upon pondering this interesting image further, though, we are anything but settled in. Some days I am the snow particle that falls to the ground and resigns myself to the fact that this is a battle and I am too weary. Some days Brett is that same snowflake. He looks at all that is ahead, knows how long the battle is, and he grows weary and is still in surrender. But, neither of us stay there in that static state. Most days I am clawing my way up from the bottom with every cell of my being. I am ready to fight. Brett is ready to fight. We will not settle in.
So, I may grow quiet from time to time. I may suffer some dark days as I did last week. But, I'm going with the war and warrior metaphor. The only time a troop settles in is prior to an attack. So, if we're settling in it's only to gain ground and position against the enemy that is cancer. And we will never be resigned to simply let it win. We will continue to shake the snow globe and deal with the chaos that ensues. It's all part of the process.
The other day I was speaking to someone about Brett's treatment schedule. We have completed two weekly chemo treatments and we have twenty two ahead of us. Of these twenty two, eleven have the potential to make him very ill. This person said to me, "You've been quiet- haven't posted an update, haven't written a blog, haven't talked much about it all. You both must be settling in for the long journey." I think up to that point I had been thinking the very same thing- we need to settle in and get through.
Upon pondering this interesting image further, though, we are anything but settled in. Some days I am the snow particle that falls to the ground and resigns myself to the fact that this is a battle and I am too weary. Some days Brett is that same snowflake. He looks at all that is ahead, knows how long the battle is, and he grows weary and is still in surrender. But, neither of us stay there in that static state. Most days I am clawing my way up from the bottom with every cell of my being. I am ready to fight. Brett is ready to fight. We will not settle in.
So, I may grow quiet from time to time. I may suffer some dark days as I did last week. But, I'm going with the war and warrior metaphor. The only time a troop settles in is prior to an attack. So, if we're settling in it's only to gain ground and position against the enemy that is cancer. And we will never be resigned to simply let it win. We will continue to shake the snow globe and deal with the chaos that ensues. It's all part of the process.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Riding the Wave
I've been thinking a lot about waves lately. After all, life seems to come in waves these days. My emotions are coming in waves for sure. We've heard it a thousand times- just ride the wave. How does one do that?
When I think about waves my heart goes to Monterey, California. It is the closest thing to my image of Heaven that I have found on Earth. Ocean meets mountains; mountains meet ocean. I have been blessed to stand on the shore of the mighty Pacific Ocean and ponder the countless grains of sand as the waves crash near my feet. I have been on a boat when it gave chase to rarely spotted Orca whales and the waves splashed all around me, spraying me with salt water. I have listened to the sea lions and watched the otters play in small waves near the shore. Surfers appear as spots on the horizon and glide gracefully to shore near Capitola, riding the waves. The sun dances on the water, the air carries the taste of salt, and when I am there all is right with the world. Needless to say my heart has been longing for Monterey over the past two months. If I could just sit and listen to the waves for an hour things would certainly be easier to face.
Things are coming at me in waves these days. One minute I'm at the low point grasping for energy and collecting strength. The next minute I'm at the peak and I can feel the sunshine and hear the birds and there's nothing that can stop me- except of course, like all waves do, I crash into the shore, my energy spent. Then, the cycle repeats. We've had so many highs and lows lately. Waves are always more intense during storms.
Riding the wave... the surfers in Capitola make it look so easy. I heard once that truly good surfers make peace with the ocean, learn its patterns, welcome its changes, and go with the flow of the water. I guess in that respect I'm learning to surf. I need to make peace with cancer, learn ways to live with it, welcome its challenges, and go with the flow of the disease's course until it is defeated.
The funniest thing about wave metaphors is that most of them deal with ups and downs and crashing and storms and noise. They leave out how absolutely soothing a boat afloat on gentle waves can be, how relaxing that crashing sound is, how absolutely breathtaking the sheer power and strength of the water is to those on the shore. There is definite beauty in waves. I'm seeking the beauty in mine as I simply try to stay on the board.
When I think about waves my heart goes to Monterey, California. It is the closest thing to my image of Heaven that I have found on Earth. Ocean meets mountains; mountains meet ocean. I have been blessed to stand on the shore of the mighty Pacific Ocean and ponder the countless grains of sand as the waves crash near my feet. I have been on a boat when it gave chase to rarely spotted Orca whales and the waves splashed all around me, spraying me with salt water. I have listened to the sea lions and watched the otters play in small waves near the shore. Surfers appear as spots on the horizon and glide gracefully to shore near Capitola, riding the waves. The sun dances on the water, the air carries the taste of salt, and when I am there all is right with the world. Needless to say my heart has been longing for Monterey over the past two months. If I could just sit and listen to the waves for an hour things would certainly be easier to face.
Things are coming at me in waves these days. One minute I'm at the low point grasping for energy and collecting strength. The next minute I'm at the peak and I can feel the sunshine and hear the birds and there's nothing that can stop me- except of course, like all waves do, I crash into the shore, my energy spent. Then, the cycle repeats. We've had so many highs and lows lately. Waves are always more intense during storms.
Riding the wave... the surfers in Capitola make it look so easy. I heard once that truly good surfers make peace with the ocean, learn its patterns, welcome its changes, and go with the flow of the water. I guess in that respect I'm learning to surf. I need to make peace with cancer, learn ways to live with it, welcome its challenges, and go with the flow of the disease's course until it is defeated.
The funniest thing about wave metaphors is that most of them deal with ups and downs and crashing and storms and noise. They leave out how absolutely soothing a boat afloat on gentle waves can be, how relaxing that crashing sound is, how absolutely breathtaking the sheer power and strength of the water is to those on the shore. There is definite beauty in waves. I'm seeking the beauty in mine as I simply try to stay on the board.
Thursday, March 1, 2012
Wasted Time
One of the most pervasive metaphors in society is that time is a commodity. You've heard it over and over again- time is money. Time is traded. We borrow time from one activity for another. We spend our time wisely. We invest our time in things important to us. You never have enough time and it is precious and shouldn't be wasted.
A great deal of my time today was wasted. We woke up early after a sleepless night of anticipating Brett's first chemo treatment. We got on the road and drove more than 90 minutes fighting the wind to get to Fort Collins. Then, we were a bit frustrated that we arrived early and had time to kill. We waited in the waiting room. We sat and waited after Brett was prepped for chemo only to be told that an error had been made and the drug he needed was not ordered and he would need to return tomorrow. We took time to drive across town to the Whole Foods grocery store and then made our way back across town for a quick lunch only to realize we had to be across town the other direction again to pick up an order. We finally got on the road home, drove another 90 plus minutes and arrived home too late to really go into work and get much accomplished.
Yep- lots of wasted time.... Or was it?....
Brett and I woke up early and smiled at each other and gave each other a hug and kiss. Brett brought me coffee while I got ready. We were up early enough to see both of our children and touch base with them before their busy day. And, I wasn't working so I put on some of my nicer sweats and tennis shoes- Aaah.
We got in the car and I had to put on my sunglasses to see through the sunshine pouring in the car. We marveled at the snow capped mountains and Brett pointed out a beautiful hawk on a fence post. We listened to the news and talked about current events. We listened to the 70's and 80's channels and reminisced.
We arrived early in Fort Collins so we stopped by a friend's work and gave her a big hug and said hello. She is an amazing gift to our family and she promised to send us across the street with prayers.
While waiting in the waiting room of the Cancer Center a woman came out of the treatment room and sat next to Brett. I recognized her immediately as one of my favorite college professors. I called her name and we visited a bit. I'm pretty sure she didn't remember me from the 80's but she was gracious. When her daughter came out of the restroom to get her I told her she had formed the teacher I had become and she was a lifechanger. She teared up and gave me a warm hug and thanked me for the kind words. It was a beautiful exchange.
We went into the treatment room and waited for a nurse manager to sheepishly tell us that she had made a terrible error and had not ordered Brett's medicine. And, I saw the change in her demeanor when Brett extended beautiful grace in a way only he can. He gave her a gift today. She was embarrassed and felt so badly and Brett eased that with loving grace and humor. She didn't maliciously forget to order the medication. She made a human error and owned it. We appreciated and understood being human ourselves.
We went to Whole Foods and stocked up on their fresh ground honey roasted peanut butter- I think it is the eighth wonder of the world. We laughed as we went down the cheese aisle three times to get samples of cheeses and almonds.
We went to lunch and laughed at our lousy luck and enjoyed some amazing fish tacos- Brett's favorite.
While at lunch we remembered that we were instructed to pick up an order on the other side of town and we made our way back to collect a yummy edible bouquet from my brother and sister in law. It included a lovely poem from our niece and nephew about chemo and love.
I came home and ran into my office to deliver a tub of the amazing peanut butter to a fellow fan and she smiled and we visited. Human connections are so beautiful.
I now have an entire hour of quiet downtime away from my office and work demands. And, my husband isn't sick tonight as he was supposed to be so we will go to the gym and walk and enjoy an evening together.
Time wasted- I think not. Had we not made that trip today so many opportunities to touch lives and have our lives touched would have been missed. It simply confirms my long held belief that there are no accidents and coincidences. I'm glad to be part of a larger plan- wish I could see the reasons most of the time- but glad to be part of it all the same.
A great deal of my time today was wasted. We woke up early after a sleepless night of anticipating Brett's first chemo treatment. We got on the road and drove more than 90 minutes fighting the wind to get to Fort Collins. Then, we were a bit frustrated that we arrived early and had time to kill. We waited in the waiting room. We sat and waited after Brett was prepped for chemo only to be told that an error had been made and the drug he needed was not ordered and he would need to return tomorrow. We took time to drive across town to the Whole Foods grocery store and then made our way back across town for a quick lunch only to realize we had to be across town the other direction again to pick up an order. We finally got on the road home, drove another 90 plus minutes and arrived home too late to really go into work and get much accomplished.
Yep- lots of wasted time.... Or was it?....
Brett and I woke up early and smiled at each other and gave each other a hug and kiss. Brett brought me coffee while I got ready. We were up early enough to see both of our children and touch base with them before their busy day. And, I wasn't working so I put on some of my nicer sweats and tennis shoes- Aaah.
We got in the car and I had to put on my sunglasses to see through the sunshine pouring in the car. We marveled at the snow capped mountains and Brett pointed out a beautiful hawk on a fence post. We listened to the news and talked about current events. We listened to the 70's and 80's channels and reminisced.
We arrived early in Fort Collins so we stopped by a friend's work and gave her a big hug and said hello. She is an amazing gift to our family and she promised to send us across the street with prayers.
While waiting in the waiting room of the Cancer Center a woman came out of the treatment room and sat next to Brett. I recognized her immediately as one of my favorite college professors. I called her name and we visited a bit. I'm pretty sure she didn't remember me from the 80's but she was gracious. When her daughter came out of the restroom to get her I told her she had formed the teacher I had become and she was a lifechanger. She teared up and gave me a warm hug and thanked me for the kind words. It was a beautiful exchange.
We went into the treatment room and waited for a nurse manager to sheepishly tell us that she had made a terrible error and had not ordered Brett's medicine. And, I saw the change in her demeanor when Brett extended beautiful grace in a way only he can. He gave her a gift today. She was embarrassed and felt so badly and Brett eased that with loving grace and humor. She didn't maliciously forget to order the medication. She made a human error and owned it. We appreciated and understood being human ourselves.
We went to Whole Foods and stocked up on their fresh ground honey roasted peanut butter- I think it is the eighth wonder of the world. We laughed as we went down the cheese aisle three times to get samples of cheeses and almonds.
We went to lunch and laughed at our lousy luck and enjoyed some amazing fish tacos- Brett's favorite.
While at lunch we remembered that we were instructed to pick up an order on the other side of town and we made our way back to collect a yummy edible bouquet from my brother and sister in law. It included a lovely poem from our niece and nephew about chemo and love.
I came home and ran into my office to deliver a tub of the amazing peanut butter to a fellow fan and she smiled and we visited. Human connections are so beautiful.
I now have an entire hour of quiet downtime away from my office and work demands. And, my husband isn't sick tonight as he was supposed to be so we will go to the gym and walk and enjoy an evening together.
Time wasted- I think not. Had we not made that trip today so many opportunities to touch lives and have our lives touched would have been missed. It simply confirms my long held belief that there are no accidents and coincidences. I'm glad to be part of a larger plan- wish I could see the reasons most of the time- but glad to be part of it all the same.
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