…..Long Beautiful Hair!

I’m a couple of days behind on this post – Sunday, February 22nd was the 4 year anniversary of shaving my head prior to my hair coming out on it’s own due to chemo.

Losing my hair was one of the very first thoughts  (and concerns!) I had when I was diagnosed with breast cancer (right after the thought – ‘I’m going to DIE!’).

For most of my life I’ve had long hair.  And I LOVE it.  I think it’s sexy as hell, it’s feminine, it’s EASY (wash and go), I love the way it feels in the wind, I love having my hair played with, brushed…..I think you’re probably getting the picture.  And while the older I get, the happier I get with myself overall, I’ve never considered myself very attractive – except for my hair.

So, the idea of losing what I perceive as my most attractive feature was really scary.  If you remember I decided to be pro-active, and lop it off before it started to fall out, because I thought that would be just way too depressing, and it would be easier to feel in control.  But I didn’t stop there, I decided to do it in front of some of the people that were near and dear to my heart (and that lived here – otherwise it would have been a much larger party!) and my beloved friend Carol did the honours, and shaved my head in front of probably 30 friends.

For ME – it turned out to be the PERFECT thing to do.  Because these dear, wonderful, loving & compassionate friends were completely and totally accepting. I didn’t feel fear, or worry about judgement, or being self conscious.  The situation just WAS.

And I remember looking in the mirror and thinking – well – there we are.

And it was okay.

I never really looked back, or thought twice about it.  I did wear scarves when I went out of the house, but at home I didn’t bother.  I tried a wig once, and hated the way it felt, so never went that route again.  I WISH I’d seen that fabulous article on henna’ing one’s scalp at the time, because I would have done THAT in a heartbeat!

But it was really kind of a cool experience – to be forced to give up (albeit temporarily) something that was super important to me, and very very very dear to my heart.  I learned that as important as I thought my hair was – it really wasn’t very important at all.  It didn’t change who I was in any important way.

It was just hair.

The first time I went to work in a scarf was a lot scary – but I truly forgot about it in less than 5 minutes and didn’t think about it again – but because I worked with the public over the months women I didn’t know (and sometimes men) would come up to me – and always SO respectfully – ask me if I was going through treatment.  And there were hugs, and tears, and laughter, and support, and mourning.

I am incredibly fortunate, because my hair has always grown very quickly – and while a lot of people LOVED it super short as it was growing back – I wanted my long, straight mane back.  I’ll have to have Mark take a recent photo – but happy to say, 4 years later  – it’s straight – and 3/4 down my back.  Once again it’s blowing in the wind, usually in a pony tail, I’m loving feeling it against my neck and my back.  But what is different now?

I know it’s just hair.

Four Years Ago!

Saturday, the 24th, marked the fourth anniversary of my mastectomy.  We said Bye Bye to Lefty that day.  I made a pretty big decision at that time, and wondered if I’d be happy with it later on.  Four years later – very thrilled to say absolutely 100% YES.

Not the decision to HAVE the mastectomy – that was pretty easy.  We’d tried to get by with a Lumpectomy, but it turned out that a) I had more than one type of breast cancer in Lefty b) they hadn’t gotten clean margins with the lumpectomy and c) I had multi-focal cancer – which meant there wasn’t A tumor, but that I had cancer scattered throughout the breast.

Wow.

So, my breast surgeon tells me all of that, and I was like – TAKE IT OFF! TAKE IT OFF! I remember feeling a sense of alienation and betrayal from Lefty – I’m pretty sure I looked at her accusingly.

And the VERY first thing my breast surgeon said was – Good.  Let me get you the names of some plastic surgeons.

And I said –

No.

THAT was the decision I made.  No reconstructive surgery.

And here is where I want to be super super clear.  I am THRILLED that there are several different types of reconstructive surgery for women who WANT to do it.  But what I wish – what I would BEYOND encourage women to do – is think about WHY you’re doing it.  It does entail quite a bit more surgery or surgeries – depending on what route you take.   You won’t have any feeling in the new breast.  Things could go wrong.  I might have hesitated with my decision if I were single, or if I were a lot younger – I have no way of knowing.   I am blessed to be in a very stable relationship, and was in my late 40’s when I was diagnosed.  Of course, if you know me, you know I LOVED my breasts!  I was a total exhibitionist with them – clothes cut down to there, no bra, topless at Burning Man, earning beads up the wazoo at Mardi Gras – but…..

Reconstruction wasn’t ME.  Because I’d chosen to not be a mother, my breasts were just toys, just ornaments.  They weren’t necessary to my health, or my well being.  The reaction from my breast surgeon when I told her -No- was one of mild astonishment.  She tried to talk me into it (it would affect my physical balance, and my psychological balance – Um, No.) but she also knew me, and knew I’d done my research, and as she said – I could always change my mind later.

So, I flashed Mark one last time at Home Depot (I’m not sure why it was always Home Depot – I think it’s because I get bored in that store), and went into surgery.  It’s actually a really easy surgery, because they’re pretty much just removing a fat sack.  I didn’t have stitches – just glued shut – and I didn’t even have to spend the night in the hospital.  I had a drain for a bit, but the recovery was really simple.  And as soon as I healed, I went to Carols Post Mastectomy Boutique in St. George, and was fitted with a mastectomy bra and a prosthetic boob that my dear friend Pat named Bubbles.

But what became interesting to me – is Bubbles wasn’t ME either.  I had not worn a bra prior to working at Best Friends, and pretty much any time I wasn’t at work – back to being bra-less – and now Lefty-less as well.  Initially I was a bit hesitant about that, because I didn’t want to offend any one – but after a while it was like – THIS is what breast cancer is.  It isn’t effing pink ribbons on everything – including Kentucky Fried Chicken buckets.  It’s having one breast. It’s sporting an AMAZING scar.  Ask to see it – I’m quite proud.  It feels pretty cool too – and yes, I’m totally okay with that too!

AND.  THIS is the part I want to drive home to women.

It’s about being UNBELIEVABLY SEXY.  With ONE boob.  Or no boobs.  Being bald.  Having all my female parts removed.

I AM WOMAN – HEAR ME ROAR!

I am heartbroken when I read about women who have reconstructive surgery because they ‘need to regain their sexuality’.  Or for their partners.  I have news for you dear one – naked they don’t look real, and in clothing if you do wear a prosthetic – no one would ever know.

I wish there were a weeks time out between having to make the decision and having the surgery.

What do YOU want?  This isn’t about your partner, or society.  It isn’t what you’ve been TAUGHT is sexy.  What do you REALLY FEEL & BELIEVE?  And go with that.  Whatever you decide – hugs.  Big boob squishy – or non-boob squishy hugs.

Words that Shouldn’t Go Together

Some words are meant to go together (Soft Kitty, Romantic Sunset, Happy Birthday etc), and some TRULY are not.  Cuddly Cactus, Glorious Roadkill, Heavenly Rash.

Vaginal Atrophy.

Yep, that one’s a doozy.

It is pretty much what you would think it was.  Basically my hooha has dried up and died.  We discovered this probably two years ago, when upon being intimate, there was tearing and bleeding.  It’s not for lack of lubrication, KY is my friend, it’s for lack of stretchy.  Lack of estrogen is to blame.  Apparently estrogen is what makes things nice and welcoming and expandomatic.  I have precious little estrogen – just what my fat cells produce.  Since I had my bi-lateral salpingo oopher hysterectomy (removal of ovaries, cervix & uterus) as a prophylactic measure, combined with chemo & menopause, my body has basically decided my time to party is over.

I, however, disagree.

I can, grudgingly, accept the hot flashes (although ginseng capsules DO help).  The powers that be (otherwise known as My Oncologist) does not want me to take anything that may help with the hot flashes, because invariably it either contains estrogen, or my body thinks it’s an estrogen like substance.  And my cancer is estrogen fed – hence the preoccupation with no estrogen – we want to starve the cancer.

So, the hot flashes suck big time, but as mentioned, I can live with them.  (I don’t have them to the extent that some women do – I’ve read about women who have to change the sheets multiple times during the night!).

Thus, while I can live with my hot flashes, I do not choose to live with a verdict of no sex for the rest of my life.  I like sex.  A lot.  And yes, I am aware that cuddling, and kissing is wonderful – I agree.  But I’m greedy – I want it all.  Kisses, cuddles & skyrockets.  I’ve always been hedonistic.

So, being the demure withdrawn creature that I am, I bring this up with my oncologist.  Who is VERY understanding, and prescribes me some sort of vaginal suppository, that we can only get from one pharmacy in St. George, they have to compound it, and it needs to be refrigerated.

Okay – there’s a series of 3 words that oughtn’t go together.  Refrigerated vaginal suppository.  Gotta say, those woke me RIGHT up.

But, they also didn’t do the trick.

Fortunately my oncologist agrees that I shouldn’t have to give up fireworks for the rest of my life, and is willing to prescribe a different vaginal suppository – thankfully NOT refrigerated – that’s a little pill that is basically a small amount of estrogen applied topically.  The packaging for this is INSANELY wasteful, and brought about one of the STRANGEST & funniest sentences to EVER come out of my mouth.  The pills are pre-inserted into a plastic inserter/applicator, which is sealed in plastic and foil.  Each and every one.  No reusing of anything.  So, one evening, I had one in it’s sterile little package on the bathroom counter ready to go, as I got ready for bed.  And all of a sudden Ava runs through the room – carrying it in her mouth like some fabulous trophy.

“Ava!  Put mommy’s vaginal suppository DOWN!”

Honestly – how often do you get to say THAT?

We’re just about to the point where we can try things out – so, Paws Crossed Please!

Oh, and the photo?  A very unfortunate coincidence.  I have a folder of ‘blog-unused’ photos that I’m just selecting in order, and while I don’t think there’s ever a good photo to go along with Vaginal Atrophy, it’s sad, funny & ironic that the photo is of my mother.

This Last Year? Percolating.

It’s been virtually an entire year since I posted last.  With the hope that I would post more frequently.  And that the depression was better.

Yeah, right.

2014 is not going to go down as one of my favorite years.  Not even in the top 10.  Not a lot of things that were HORRIFIC happened (a couple that really sucked), but mostly it was just a really long, hard, slog through the mud, of a year.

Shall we?

The two things that really sucked – Medha Isaacs, who was an amazing friend, co-worker, artist & animal communicator extraordinaire died in January.  I hate cancer.  I mean – I hate raw tomatoes, but if it would bring her back – I’d put them in my daily diet.  It’s that kind of hate.  Cancer just truly sucks sweaty donkey balls.  If you happen to be a fan of sdb, well, substitute something else.

We also crossed our Miranda cat this year.  She was the one that Mark & I found, abandoned, in Portland, got into the fabulous shelter House of Dreams, and went BACK to Portland from Kanab UT with access to several thousand cats, to adopt.  We think at the end that she had a series of strokes, and at the end, she couldn’t use her back legs.  Our dear friends Steve & Joni came over, and Steve crossed her.  She was a dear, dear cat – but she had had a really good life and it was time.  I believe in Quality vs. Quantity.

In late January I took a leave from work – I thought I would be able to easily get a short term disability leave, but that did NOT prove to be the case.  I just couldn’t physically do the job of being a Tour Guide 8 hours a day, 5 days a week.  The back pain was (is) just too severe.  Mark pointed out that for over a year I’d gotten up, gone to work, come home, gone to bed.  On weekends I didn’t get up.  Not a supercalifragilistic sort of life, you know?  Something had to give.  There were a few other factors, and in May I said goodbye to the job I’d held two days shy of nine years.

Part of the chronic pain, part of the leaving a job after so long, and part of it just being me – the depression I had for the first 7 months of this year – was brutal.  I knew it would pass.  I didn’t want to go back on anti-depressants – something deep inside me said to just wait – to be patient.  So I was.  I had 8 steroid injections in my spine in April, and that did help a great deal with the pain for quite a few months.  So I waited.

And was very still.

And very very slowly, things started to get a little easier.  If you have had issues with depression, you know what I mean.  If you haven’t, it’s SO hard to explain, but it’s like the doing of ANYTHING is immensely difficult.  Getting out of bed is like the hardest thing you’ve ever done.  Getting dressed is harder.  And so on.  It’s like you’re having that dream where you’re being chased by the monster and you CANNOT RUN EXCEPT INNNNN SSSSLLLLOOOOWWWW  MMMMOOOOTTTTTIIIIIOOOONNNNNNNN……. and you’re breathing through molasses.  In a very very very deep, very very very dark hole.  By yourself.  And you’re sinking.

Gradually things became lighter, including my body.  I started to feel again.  The elephant on my chest went off and did some errands from time to time, giving me some relief.  I was finally, truly, learning that my back will not get better, but that I can still get a lot done.  As much as I WANT to, or think I should be ABLE to, no.  But, if I scaled way back on the expectations, we could make some progress.

I still had the feeling of waiting to live – and when I saw my oncologist this fall, I said to him – is this the best it’s going to be?  And I thank him for his honesty – he said – I think so.

Well – crap on a stick.

So, on this last day of the year, I’m thinking about what I’d like to leave in 2014.  Expectations of myself.  LIVING my life again – no more waiting.  I’d like to kick the depression to the curb once and for all – but I do know better.  At least I know I can outwait it, and if need be, there are medications that will help.  I’d like to leave the vaginal atrophy behind as well (two words that seriously should NEVER be put next to each other in a sentence), but we’ll delve into that in another post.

What do I hope 2015 holds for me?  Life.  Living.  Sex.  Oh, I’ve missed sex.  (see above paragraph).  Being creative (watch out for my Etsy store…..).  Really learning how to sew.  Paring down on belongings.  There’s a good chance we’ll move this year – waiting on a key element that will make that a yes or a no.

There are also things I hope continue.  My partnership with Mark (WHAT a patient man he is.  See above two paragraphs).  My friendships.  Having fun, and being silly.  Feeling myself come into bloom again (working at Best Friends at the Welcome Center was magnificent, but I really had to vanilla-ize myself – now that I’m not there – the Stevie Nicks/slutwear can come out of hiding.  Amongst other aspects of ME!)

It’s hard to read so much about women who have cancer – and they view it as the best thing that ever happened to them, and 2 weeks after their diagnosis they’re back to themselves only Better!  Yes, that is an exaggeration, but it feels like I’ve failed.  I came through it, but it’s really been a struggle.  I thank you all for coming along for the ride.

Oh the photo?  Jinger (best friend) & I at my graduation from Culinary School party at Martin Emmersons house.  And yes, that IS a plastic lizard on a candy filled stick in my bosom.  Did you have to ask?

It’s Been A Rough Road

This past year has seen few and far between blog postings from me.  I can tell you why –

I’ve been waiting.

And Waiting.

And Waiting.

To feel better, both physically & mentally & emotionally.  I wanted to be able to finally post a YEAH!  WE’VE MADE IT!  blog.

And I had to come to the realization that this might be the best I ever feel physically, and the mental & emotional parts, well, you know the old adage ‘fake it till you make it’?  To some extent that holds true for me.

My back is still pretty bad.  We’ve bounced around with a lot of different pain killers, and haven’t found anything that’s perfect.  My guess is, we’re not going to.  But, the Fentanyl patches work pretty well for now, and the more I move, the better off I am. 

The stomach is still an issue – I’m having trouble eating, and there’s a lot of nausea.  If I eat to where I’m full, I’ll throw up.  But not all the time.  What I’ve learned is to really listen to my body.  Stop eating when I need to.  Eat what sounds good to me.  It’s not the healthiest of diets, but it seems to be working.  And hey, from my all time peak on the weight front I’ve lost 65 pounds.  Not bad when you’re only 5′ 1″!  So that’s a silver lining!

It was a hard year with depression, and it took me a long time to see that.  Depression can be sneaky that way.  I slept a lot, but just attributed it to being in pain.  And a lot of it IS due to being in chronic pain, it’s hard to explain just how debilitating that is.  And it’s hard to explain how disappointing it is to have to come to grips with ‘this may be as good as it gets’.  You don’t go through 7 surgeries and 8 rounds of chemo to still have no energy, have nasty back problems, and throw up a couple of times a month.

But.

I realized when I filled out one of the back pain questionnaires – that I’m not limited in what I can do.  What I mean is – I get up and go to work every day.  I’m on my feet nearly the entire day.  I can go hiking.  I can come home from work and make cakes.  I can laugh.  I can enjoy my friends, my family, my husband, my cats.  I can plan.

And a hell of a lot of people don’t have that.

I had to say goodbye to my Daddy this year, and even though we disagreed on everything under the sun, I miss him terribly.

And we said goodbye to a dear friend and co-worker, Medha, this month.  She was diagnosed with cancer and was gone within months.  Cancer just fucking SUCKS ASS.

But, I can honor her, I can honor my father, I can honor myself by engaging in life again. 

There’s a remarkable author, Rick Hanson, who is a neuropsychologist, and his book Just One Thing is one I would beyond recommend.  My beloved friend Lynn Tharpe turned me on to him.  Simple (but hard) little changes.  And what I love about him, his book etc., is that it WILL change your brain chemistry.  And one of his questions is – how do you feel RIGHT NOW? 

And what that question does is make me stop. 

And be in the present. 

And generally I actually am OK.  The pain is doable with the painkillers, I’m certainly not starving to death.  Is any of it pleasant?  No, but it’s doable.

And that makes a huge difference for me.  So, thank you Lynn!

Mark & I took a much needed 3 week vacation up to Seattle to see my Aunt Anne, down the coast, and into Portland, where we reconnected with such amazing friends – Ed & Martin & Percy, Joan, Jaime, Kristen, Elaina, everyone from House of Dreams – and it started our brains and ideas rolling.  There may be some major changes in the next few years, we’ll have to see.

I promise to write on here more, (and of course if I get a lot of comments that will encourage me!),

and

Right NOW

I’m good.

 

A Fabulous Week!

Sort of as a continuation of the last blog, I wanted to share what a wonderful, and very special week I had when Mark & I went down for my dads memorial, and to do what we could to help Kris with things.

My dad & Kris got married when I was 24, so I’d never really been close to John, or Dina or Victoria.  I liked them, but just didn’t know them well.  We all lived in different places, had different lives, you know.  This week really helped to change that.

Dina was already there when Mark & I drove down.  Dina currently lives in Australia, and she & I had always shared with my father a really juvenile, oh, 4th grade type of sense of humour.  Drove Kris crazy.  Heck, STILL drives Kris crazy.  🙂  Nothing could make the three of us laugh harder, than a good fart.  Or a good nose picking story.  My dad & I both hated the phone with a passion, but he would call me once a week or so, to say hi, and check in.  There were times when he would call, and before he said anything he would start to laugh.  (Thank heavens for caller ID!).  And then I would start to laugh, and we would both laugh until I had tears running down my face.  And all of this without either one of us having said a word – and I knew he called to tell be about a good fart.  We could even reminisce about farts and laugh just as hard 30 years after the fact.  Or rather, after the fart.  Thankfully, I still have that with Dina.  🙂

John currently lives in the Sacramento area, and he and his girlfriend Mary, and Mary’s son Roy (who is 9, I think) drove down.  Poor Mary & Roy – they’d never met any of the family before, and to have to come down for this, had to have been so hard.  And bless them both – they absolutely fit in, and did everything they could to help.  It can’t have been much fun for Roy, there were no other kids, but he totally pitched in, and did anything any one asked of him.  (One thing about Roy that was absolutely adorable – I brought down a couple of skeins of yarn with me, because it’s pretty much impossible for me to sit and not do something with my hands.  So, I crochet.  I know it’s not the most social of things to do, but since I CAN crochet and talk, I figured it wasn’t TOO terrible.  And Roy was pretty interested in my crocheting, especially since I crochet pretty fast.  Well, one night Kris’s brother in law Phil was referring to my knitting.  Every time he said knitting, Roy very gently corrected him with ‘she’s crocheting’).

Victoria was there for the memorial, and I’m sorry I didn’t get more time with her.  She’s pretty busy with a start up business, and being a full time mom!

Kris’s best friend from when they were 5 or so (maybe earlier) Joyce was also there.  So, it was a pretty full house!   And everyone just worked their booties off.  We did errands, we worked on getting things ready for the memorial (and a huge help for that was Jinger – not only did she do the layout and printing of the memorial programs, she also did two beautiful story boards of photos that we’d chosen for the memorial.  She scanned the photos in, cleaned them up, arranged them all, and had them printed out – as her gift, because as she said, ‘I’m a member of the family too’.  And she did ALL of that in about two days, because that’s all the time we gave her!  She absolutely ROCKED!

And for a time I hadn’t been looking forward to, I left after that week, feeling like I had not step-siblings, but siblings.  And hearing and remembering all the wonderful stories about my dad, it was just a wonderful, fabulous, gift.

Kris gave me a wonderful gift as well, one of the very first things she said to me when I got there was ‘You are NOT an orphan’.

Having the time with Joyce was also so special.

Even though the house was crowded, and at times things were emotional, it was a time I wouldn’t trade for anything.

The memorial itself was just perfect.  My father had specified to Kris that he wanted ‘old Hermosa’ and she chose the Hermosa Rotary Club, which could not have been more of what my Dad wanted.  We got little bottles of Jack Daniels for the tables, and Abba Zaba bars.  Jinger, Mary & John bartended.  There was a bagpiper, which was the most perfect (how many times can I say this?) of things – my father LOVED bagpipe music.  And when the bagpiper played Amazing Grace – not sure there was a dry eye in the house.

People came from all over to be there.  Neighbors from 45 years ago.  Business colleagues.  I know that it’s not terribly common for men to have good men friends, but my dad did.  There was a group of guys he used to play tennis with, and it evolved from there into a breakfast group.  There were people there I hadn’t seen in 40 years.  And there were many people who wanted to be there but couldn’t.

All to celebrate my Dad, to give their love to Kris, and probably out of her hearing, to share a good fart story.

My father died exactly the way he wanted to – quickly, and at home.  He had a long, full, life, and he was so loved by so many.  I was blessed to know how much he loved me, and to be able to help celebrate his life.

But this Fathers Day – this first one especially – is going to be hard.

Still Processing…..

April 2nd, my father died.  While we’d been expecting it, sort of, for about 20 years, it was still a shock.  My dad had had a lot of health issues over the years, but always seemed to rally, always seemed to keep on going, just like the Energizer Bunny.  Every time we thought ‘this is it’, it wasn’t.

Except this time it was.

The way I found out was very much a small town thing.  It was a Tuesday, early afternoon, and my dearest friend in the world Jinger called me, and asked – ‘is everything okay at your parents house?’  I said ‘as far as I knew, why?’  And she said that a friend of her sisters had driven past the house, and pretty much every single emergency vehicle in Hermosa Beach was outside the house, but the ambulance wasn’t moving.

Oh crap.

So I called Kris, and she answered, and I asked ‘is everything okay?’  And she said ‘No, it’s not.  Your dad died about an hour ago.  I’ll call you when everyone is out of the house.’

And I sat there, trying to process it.

I’m still trying.

But I feel so blessed, because I went down to Hermosa in February of this year to see he & Kris.  And I came very close to cancelling that trip, because my father wound up in the hospital shortly before I was due to drive down, having had a heart attack and having had a pace maker installed. Kris wanted me to come down later, so that I could help out when he was back home.  I decided to come down as planned, and then come later as well.

And I am so glad that I did.

It was hard to see him in the hospital, well let me clarify.  I’d seen him in the hospital before, that part wasn’t hard, what was hard about this was that he was confused, and he was scared.  The doctors felt the confusion was to be expected, and it came and went, which was good, because it absolutely broke my heart to see him frightened and not knowing what was going on.

So I’ll confess something here that I’m not proud of.  I was going to stop by one last time to see him at the rehab place on my way back home.  And I almost didn’t.  My father & I had always had a bit of a contentious relationship, and it was almost impossible for my father to say anything positive about any one TO them, he hid his feelings a lot with sarcasm, and that was hard.  We also didn’t agree on pretty much anything in the world, which was also hard.

Now don’t get me wrong, I loved him very much, and I never once doubted how much he loved me.  That part of the relationship was rock solid.  But the week down there had been draining, and I just wasn’t sure I could steel myself to possibly see him confused and frightened one more time.

So, I tried to use excuses – he probably wouldn’t even know or remember, I needed to get on the road, parking was a nightmare (that part was true – in all the years I lived at the beach, and since then, I have never once parallel parked!).

But my conscience, my heart, something said – Go.

So, I did.  And I will be forever grateful.  Because my father, who had so much trouble saying anything positive, told me ‘how glad he was that I’d come down to visit.

And that he didn’t want me to leave.’

And especially now, with that being the last time ever I saw him, I feel like he gave me the biggest, most fabulous gift ever.  I will treasure those words, and that visit, for the rest of my life.

There is more I want to share about going down for his memorial, but for now, let me share what we wrote FOR his memorial program –

“David Conwell Johnson

Known to most as Dave, and to me as Dad.  When my father married Kris, he took her three kids – John, Victoria & Dina – into his heart and his circle as well.  When they first met him he was ‘Mr. Johnson.’  Over time he became Dave, and finally, Dad.

If there is one thing he will be most remembered for, it will be his humour:  extremely juvenile at times, razor wicked sharp at others.

Abba-Zaba candy bars, books, old Porsches, tennis, newspapers, Mexican food (especially Berdies!), Jack Daniels, Harbor Freight Tools, baseball hats, scotch tape, Corgis.  All of these things make us think of our dad.

But more than anything – even more than his sense of humour – our dad had an enormous heart.  He was unfailingly generous to us, to his family, to his friends.  He never judged any of us kids, but always supported us, even when it meant going against Kris.  He was our confidante, and, at times, our mentor.

And to Kris, the love of his life, the woman he so proudly introduced as ‘his beautiful bride’ over 28 years after they were married, the woman he would have done anything for, or given the moon to had she asked.

He will be missed; Mr. Johnson, Dave, Dad.”

 

 

Sad News

I know that I haven’t written here in ages – combination of a bunch of stuff – mostly not stellar.  So, let’s play catch up!

In March Mark & I took a road trip to Arizona, to relax, shop, and see friends and felines before it got TOO hot, and to celebrate my birthday!  Yeah 51!

We had a wonderful time, I love road trips with Mark, because he loves to drive, is incredibly easy going, is open to pretty much anything, and is tolerant of my many oddities.

We went to Ikea, BevMo, discovered a store that’s similar to BevMo called Total Wine that I could quite possibly have lived in, some thrift stores, had some great meals, and got to catch up with some wonderful people we’ve met through Best Friends.

And we got to see Bobb.  On the off chance that you don’t know about Bobb, Bobb was a cat that Mark & I ‘hospiced’ for Best Friends.  He was thought to be dying – had diabetes, supposedly had mega colon (he didn’t) and was somewhat of a challenge of a cat (THAT is the understatement of the century).  Mark & I didn’t want to foster a cat, so when we told the cat Department that we were willing to hospice, we were presented with Bobb.

Who almost didn’t last with us long, but not for hospice reasons.

When Bobb first arrived at our house, we were trying to regulate his blood sugar.  And you do it with a cat pretty much the same way you do it with a person.  You take a drop of blood (from a cats ear) and put it on a special strip of paper inserted into a little machine that then reads the sugar content.

Well, that’s the way it’s SUPPOSED to go.

That first morning, Mark & I go into the guest room (aka Bobbs room), armed with our equipment, facing a very suspicious Bobb.

Within the first 3 minutes, Bobb had knocked my glasses across the room, ripped my face open JUST under my eye, ripped my arm open, and Mark & I were screaming at each other.

Thank God Bobb didn’t have teeth.

Well, we’re all stubborn, and we eventually got things figured out, and Bobb let us do the blood testing twice a day for six months or so, and finally said NO, which everyone, from Dr. Mike on down respected, and from that point on he simply got insulin twice a day.

And showed NO signs of dying.

In fact, he eventually became a Guardian Angel on the Best Friends web site, and acquired QUITE a following.  On more than one occasion, I had a total stranger come into the Welcome Center at Best Friends, point at me and yell ‘You’re Bobb’s mom!’

And four and a half years after coming into our home, our lives, and our hearts, he left.

Yep, he was adopted.

There’s an amazing woman named Lee, who adopts a lot of the special needs, older, and hospice animals from Best Friends.  She had had Bobb on her radar for some time, and had even taken him on a sleepover with her grandson at one of the cottages at Best Friends (Mark & I delivered him) where she broke THE cardinal rule with Bobb, she watched a documentary.  (He HATED them.  Except for The Eyes of Tammy Faye, narrated by RuPaul, which he ADORED).

So, when Mark & I were going to be in Arizona, we got in touch with Lee, and for a little bit it didn’t look like we were going to be able to see Bobb, because Lee is one hell of a busy woman, but it eventually worked out, and we met her at her house before going out to lunch.

And it was awesome.  Bobb, being Bobb, didn’t exactly get up and dance with joy at seeing us.  In fact, he didn’t get up at all, we had to go to him.  But he totally remembered us, and knowing him as well as we did, we knew he was happy to see us.  The photo (isn’t it awesome?) is a result of the fact that two of Lees’ kitties were on the bed with Bobb (yes, really!) who WERE doing happy dances to see Mark & I, and well, they got way too much in Bobbs face for Bobbs liking.

WHAP!

With the speed of lightning, Bobb had thwacked the long haired orange cat with both paws, extracting QUITE the wads of fur.  Mark carefully removed the wads of fur, and for whatever reason, Bobb lunged out and grabbed the furwad in his mouth.  Hence, cute photo.

What made the trip so poignant, was that less than a week later, Lee took Bobb to the vet and he was diagnosed with pancreatitis and renal failure, and was pretty much unresponsive, and Lee thought long and hard, and made the same decision I would have made for Bobb.

No.

And she scheduled him to be euthanized the next day, of course with her being present to say goodbye.

But, Bobb being Bobb,

No.

He crossed about twenty minutes before she was scheduled to be there.

I am thrilled beyond measure that he had a home for the last six months of his life, and I will always be eternally grateful to Lee.  And I am thrilled beyond measure that Mark & I got to see him, one last time, in that forever home, on HIS bed.

 

Okay, Does Any One Read My Chart?

The photo is from one of my proudest achievements ever – graduating from Culinary School.  Not a great photo of me, but I think you get a sense of my emotions!

So, today we went to – guess where? – St. George! for my yearly mammogram.  I don’t have a real problem with mammograms, I know for some women they’re really painful, but for me they’re just mildly uncomfortable.  And have I shared before my belief on why they squish your boob in two totally different directions?  To reinflate it.

One of the many things I truly do love about all the medical stuff I’ve had done in St. George, we’ve rarely EVER had to wait.  They’re all so on time it’s mind boggling.  And as ever, my appointment is at 10, and at 10 (often if we get there early, they take me early!) I’m being handed a nice cloth gown, being told to put it on with the opening in the front (oh my lord, do they REALLY need to tell me that?), put my clothes in the locker etc, and then we go into the room with the large expensive piece of equipment.

The women who work at the imaging center are all very nice, and I do feel a wee bit sorry for the lady who did my mammogram today, because I’m sure what ensued was in no way her fault.  Very cheerily she says to me, okay, we’re going to start with the right one!  And I kind of look at her a bit oddly, and say, well, that’s a good thing, since that’s the only one I’ve got!  And she was obviously VERY taken aback, and I said, uh, I’ve had a mastectomy, so I only HAVE my right breast!  And she looked back at my chart, and it was apparently not helpful at all, so she went out front to get this faux pas corrected for all future visits.

I wasn’t sure how long it would take, so I just went back into the little dressing area to finish looking at a really cool magazine article on a Christmas wreath made from Andes Creme de Menthe candies, and she came back to check on WHICH boob I still had – STILL the right one hon! – and then she came back to tell me it was now changed in the computer system.

I said I was surprised that it hadn’t been rectified previously, since I’d had a mammogram since my mastectomy, did they not notice I was missing a breast at that point?  And I also told her that it was a good thing I wasn’t particularly sensitive about the fact I’d had a mastectomy, because that whole interaction could have been upsetting.

And now I’m wondering – was my insurance company double billed the last time?

Yes, yes, that was a joke.  (Recently, I had a phone call at work, and the woman who was calling asked, very incredulously, if the goats were up for adoption.  I told her virtually all of the animals, and some of the staff were up for adoption.  There was dead silence, and then she said – was that a joke?  So I feel like I should point them out now).

Pain.

The photo is of my mom and Irving, the cat my parents got when they learned they were pregnant with me.  He was an AWESOME cat.  And do you LOVE my moms hair?

I feel very fortunate to have inherited my moms hair (sorry Dad!), and her twisted sense of humor (okay, I got that one from BOTH sides), but I AM sorry to have inherited something we never discussed in the family, depression.

My mom always had trouble with the holidays, and I realize that to some extent, so do I.  Even though Mark & I stopped celebrating them years ago, ostensibly removing the stress of the planning, the finances, etc., I realize that I still get blue in December.  And even though we just got back from a really nice, seriously calorie laden vacation (my favorite kind!), last night I was having a serious anxiety fit (as opposed to an attack, which I think is more serious), and I couldn’t sleep, and I was crying, and I realized – ah.  Depression has come to visit.

I’ve been pretty fortunate with my depression in the last 7 years (since moving to Kanab), in that it has been pretty much in the background of my life, just occasionally popping in to say hello.  Years ago, in Portland, I started a Depression Support Group (because I couldn’t find one – in PORTLAND!), and we had more fun as a group than any collection of people battling a mental illness had any right to!  And I learned a lot, namely some of the things that will trigger a bout of depression for me.   I’m experiencing three of them at the moment.  One is the holidays, Second is when I can’t find something (I know, that seems sort of stupid, but I discovered it is a SERIOUS trigger for me.  I tend to be fairly organized, and losing something, or misplacing something brings up ALL the feelings of inadequacy, of feeling stupid, feeling like a failure, well, you get the picture), and I can’t find the lab work sheet and appointment card for my next oncology appointment.  It is by far not the end of the world.  I can call them tomorrow, find out when the appointment is, and have them send me the lab work sheet.  But, of course, from Depressions point of view, that is NOT the point.

And lastly, I’m in pain.  I’ve had trouble with chronic pain, to some degree, a lot of my life, with my mysterious headaches.  This back pain is not helping.  And it’s hard to be happy, and up, and productive, and cheerful when you hurt.  Especially when there doesn’t seem to be any end to the pain.  And yes, there are a lot of things I can do, that I either haven’t done (acupuncture etc), or haven’t been consistent on (yoga), but you know what?  I’m tired.  It’s just over two years that I was diagnosed with cancer, and I was supposed to be feeling good again.  I wasn’t supposed to be saddled with this arthritis shit.  And yes, I am pissed.  And then I feel guilty, when other people that I love dearly would give anything for MY diagnosis, rather than theirs.  And who, exactly, is it I’m pissed at?  I don’t know.

It doesn’t help that I haven’t really slept particularly well SINCE I was diagnosed (and I used to be a champion sleeper!), and that thanks to the chemo induced menopause sex is not really in the picture at the moment (lack of estrogen equals some unpleasant consequences), and I think everything has just come to sit on my chest and poke me with spoons.

I will be fine, and I will get through this, and I’m sure I’ll be a better person, with LOTS more character thanks to all of this.  Hopefully when I see the back dr. next month we’ll come up with a plan of action that includes something I don’t know about that will help tremendously with the pain.  In the meantime I need to start doing what I can to help myself, which will also help to make me feel more empowered, and not like such a victim – which is not my favorite place to be.

Now if I could only find that paper………