Brought to you by the letter "C", as in ...

Some have noticed and asked why my writings as of late are about things that occurred many years ago – friendships made or tiny little ramblings, but no “current reveals”. My excuse is that my “current” is nothing to write home about and, frankly, I’m not great at “reveal”, either. That being said, here is my attempt.

I currently work only two days a week. The original plan was for me to spend the rest of my spare time getting my life packed and organized, and then be mobile, and then be reinstalled. It would be a huge undertaking, and likely emotional, but the payoff would be both amazing and completely and totally worth it. E-yep, that was the original plan … and what do we know about things that we plan? Exactly – they change. You can (and should) plan on it. Since that change, I’ve found that I’ve had a lot of spare time with very little “plan”.

Now, for those at home keeping score, you’ll recall that the average health of females in my extended family has left PLENTY to be desired these days. One would think that the amount of unexpected spare time I now have plus the health issues of my aunt, my cousin and myself would add up to be a bad equation. Ah, yes, that would USUALLY be a good assumption – but I have over three decades of employing a great “c” word to deal with these things … “compartmentalization”. So I have been able to be a fully-functional, highly effective, part-time employee to my company, even though I’ve slept in my own bed less than 8 times in the past two and a half weeks as I support my family the only way I know how. Those that work near to me have no clue about how I spend my down time – which is exactly how I like it to be. Actually, it’s how I NEED it to be.

There are those that would argue that compartmentalization is very close to running away – and I see that similarity, and it does not bother me. Not in the least. In spite of my participation in the Lewis & Clark last year, I’m no marathoner – but I am a fantastic runner. So, while I embrace the common health issues in my family, I find myself unable to apply that information … that diagnosis … that WORD … directly to me and my health situation … even though I walked down this road 20 years ago. So shoot me – I’m scared. Actually, that’s not truthful. I’m not scared – I am terrified. And my compartmentalization is starting to fail me, through no fault of my own. There be cracks in this armor in places where I noticed no previous weakness.

How do these cracks demonstrate themselves?

As a company representative, I had to attend a luncheon on Friday. I made sure that this event had NOTHING to do with anything “health” related, because that could wreck my whole “keeping the line between my personal and professional life” intact. The keynote speaker started her session with an inspiring story about how she took over the family business as her husband was about to succumb to … Cancer. I made it back my “big city” offices, where Scott and I wound up on the phone for close to an hour. It was a terrific (and much needed) conversation, and he never asked me point-blank what was going on and I never told him. In fact, I caught myself making sure that I didn’t say anything more descriptive than “sick” when it came to my own current health situation, which rather sounds like I have a cold.

While driving on the way home, I flipped down my sun visor and a small leather bracelet that is more than 30 years old fell into my lap. I made it when I was a child, for another child, and it is decorated with my astrological sign … Cancer. The letters waiting for me at home on Friday included requests for money from three different societies who spend their time and energy looking for various ways to research or treat or one day cure the many hundreds of known types of … Cancer.

On Saturday morning, after spending an amazing evening in my own bed with my own pillows, I watched a DVD of one of my favorite television series with the goal of “distraction”. The guest star was a VERY YOUNG Patrick Swayze playing a character who receives a surprising diagnosis of … Leukemia. Twenty seven years later Patrick Swayze is fighting … Pancreatic Cancer. Giving up on electronic means of distraction, I head to my favorite bookstore where I find a title that seems interesting - “We Disappear” - and the 21st word in the description of the story is … Cancer. I instead pick up a movie that I’d wanted to see when it was released and is now out on DVD. The lead character is raising his amazing daughters with a supportive but complicated family as he continues to recover from losing the love of his life four years prior to … Cancer.

Dammit - I never asked to be a poster child representative. I never wanted to be an expert. I never aspired to be the “go to” on what comes next down this hideous and thorny pathway. I’m not brave. I’m not strong. I’m not a saint. I have no desire to be anyone’s damn hero. This isn’t compassion … I’m just me doing what I can for my family while thrusting my head in the sand at the same time. I am avoiding my own health while entrenching myself in everyone else’s. The dance continues. My aunt is dying of Cancer – a little more each day – and I spend most of my nights by her side as she continues in her steady decline. My cousin is fighting her second round of Cancer. She visits the hospital daily for her own treatments as her strength slowly shows signs of returning while her mothers’ slips away.

Me? In a revolting replay of my life from 20 years past (a very nasty rerun, if you will) I recently had a friend walk away because of the current amount of drama in my life. This, at a time when friends seem too frightened to challenge me on the purposeful distance that I keep. Distance that I know is a side-effect from my compartmentalization, which I cannot give up. If I did, then I couldn’t say that I’m just “sick” anymore.

Who hasn't felt like this at least once in their lives?

"Without my pride,I reach out from the inside ..."
Look - I know it's scary, I know it hurts ... but I'm scared and I hurt, too. Reach out anyway, please.

Falling into ... friendship, swing-dance style

Thus far, I’ve written in detail about my friendships with Tim and Karin. Today is Scott’s turn. With most my friendships, I don’t know the exact day or circumstance that the bond began. That’s not true with Scott … I know EXACTLY when we began our friendship. It was as easy as letting the pretty girl hit on me on Valentine's Day and then falling on my butt.

I’d worked with my previous sales team for several years. We were a tight family and suddenly, the only member of my “new” team I knew was my boss and Scott. I’d met Scott briefly in 2005 at a meeting in Las Vegas and, in February 2006, I was off to Chicago to attend my first meeting with my “new” team. From the invite I saw, the only name I recognized was Scott’s.

I’d flown into DFW on the afternoon of February 12th to get myself mid-way to O’Hare and the next morning saw me flying EARLY into ORD so that I could be part of the first crew in. (This behavior is part of my “making sure everyone is comfortable and taken care of” routine. It is, simply, what I do. Not doing it would be the same as … not breathing. I’m not boasting here – it’s just the truth.) Scott landed at the same time, and we met on an airport walkway. He recognized me before I recognized him (later telling me that my Van’s were a dead-giveaway of my “California-ness”). We headed to baggage to pick up my checked my bags, where I learned they lost the bag that had my warm coat. Terrific … this was February in Chicago, where the average temp was in the mid-teens. But we’d spend most our time indoors, so I left my hotel contact info and we connected with the driver I’d arranged and headed to the hotel to stash our bags and find lunch.

Over lunch prior to the meeting start, we learned that our musical tastes were the same (with perhaps his choices being slightly edgier than mine), that we both order our steaks rare, and that he has a much higher tolerance for caffeine than I do. (I *still* don’t know how he can drink Venti Americanos throughout the day and actually sleep at night.) We both also had the same song assigned to the people who were the first loves of our lives. His strength in his faith was an eye-opener for me because … well, typically sales folks aren’t exactly known for their religion beyond the worship of the all-mighty dollar. It was when he told me that he liked live music that I knew how we’d be spending Valentine’s Day 2006.

The meeting went well (even though my bag had still not arrived) and, as there was no official dinner organized, a group of us met in the lobby to discuss our options. I knew which club I wanted to go to, and we tried to get other folks to come along, but it turned out to just be Scott and I. When we arrived at the club, it had not yet opened for the evening. We walked around the corner and Scott found an English pub so we had dinner and beers there. By the time we were done, the dual-stage club had opened.

So here we were – two pretty-much strangers spending our Valentine’s evening in a city neither of us resided in, ready for music from bands we hadn’t heard of, and each sharing the experience with a new friend. This was either gonna be a bomb or a blast, only time would tell … and it didn’t start out well. The first band had a guy on the keyboard who was a dead ringer for Charlie Manson but he was quite talented and the music was LOUD and only alright. I was worried that it was gonna be a short night. We had a couple more beers, the set was over and we migrated to the other stage at the club.

That’s when Joanna Connor and her band took over ... in every sense of the word. Joanna looked from afar to be about 25 (we later talked with her and clearly closer up, she was more in the 40s range). The girl just absolutely rocked! During her first set, she played something that I knew we could both dance to so dance we did. We sat back down, had a few more beers - there were LOTS of beers, and a quick round of Silver Patron (my fault) - and were having a conversation while the other band took over in the other room. We didn’t move – we talked about … everything. He had photos of his children (they are, of course, adorable).

When Joanna started her second set, by about the third song, this really striking girl walked over and I thought “oh damn, she’s gonna ask the only person here that I know to dance and leave me sitting here all alone like this” … and then I noticed she wasn’t talking to Scott. She was talking to me. I glanced over at Scott and he didn’t seem to mind the idea of watching two gals dance … so I took her outstretched hand as she led me out to the floor. We danced swing for a bit (probably my FAVORITE way to dance) and gosh we were having a lot of fun … right up until I tripped up and I dumped. I dumped bad, and Lord it was SO embarrassing. She helped me steady myself and said “don’t worry about it” … and I tried not to.

We finished dancing and we walked me back to the table, Scott was … taken aback a bit and I walked around behind him and hid myself from my own embarrassment. She thanked him – and me, we hugged (she and I did), and I apologized for embarrassing myself, which he just kinda said was fine and then said “uh – that was hot.” And I said “yeah, especially the part with me falling on my ass” and he said “that part was minor – but that was … um, that was really hot” – so I said “What? Your other coworkers wouldn’t have done that?” and he smiled and said “Uh – no. It’s safe to say other women co-workers would have certainly never danced with her – or danced like that”. It felt good to hear – and I think he actually meant it. I was still embarrassed, but at least he now knew about my level of grace, so it was one less confession to make. The rest of the night included more Patron, and me showing Scott the basics of Swing and we stayed out far past our bedtime - far past mine, anyway.

The next morning started very early, and I was the first in the meeting room. I looked probably just as bad as I felt, if not a little worse and, true friend that he turned out to be, when Scott walked into the room, he looked over at me and had the courage to say “wow – you look like hell.” I smiled, even tho’ doing so hurt my face a bit. “Maybe so”, I replied, “but I got the hot chick to dance with me.” It’s a reference we still make to each other, two years later.

Without even recognizing it, I’d made peace with my team change in 24 hours – at a bar and blues club at the South Side of Chicago … and all I had to do was have enough courage to be myself.

Get comfortable

So I had the perfect “have a safe trip” gift picked out for a friend at work, had it wrapped nicely and the whole thing … and left it on my dining room table as I walked out the door early Tuesday morning. I just completely forgot it. I remembered it as I was driving up 19th Avenue towards the Golden Gate … too far to turn around and head back home. My “HQ” offices are less a mile away from a mall, so I knew I could find something else. Still, I kicked myself for forgetting the gift in the first place. After all, I set it right next to my computer bag (and yes, I looked on the floor of my passenger seat just to make sure that I *did* have my computer with me).

I called Tim during mid-morning to see if he wanted to run a “mall-errand” with me during lunch and at 12:30pm, there we were. I’d found a replacement gift (actually, it was better than the original, which I’ll now give as a “welcome back” gift, I suppose) and was having it wrapped when Tim noticed a cafe. Since we were waiting anyway, we decided to take the time and catch up over a cup of coffee – or, in my case, hot chocolate.

The chairs outside the café were not comfortable, but the conversation sure was. We were there for 20 – maybe 25 minutes. More than anyone else in my life, Tim knows all my little details, even the ugly, scary, not-very-nice ones. The only one he wasn’t current on was what I was doing about my health situation and, after a quick update on that, we got down to all my other “brass tacks” as of late.

If you’ve been paying attention, you may wonder how much advice Tim could give to me about … well, lots of things, really. He is close to my age, true – and we’ve done the same job - but beyond that, we’re VERY different folks. For starters, he’s a guy. Also, he’s in a successful relationship based on mutual respect, honesty, love, and compassion. Tim knows that when the going gets tough, he’ll have his partners’ shoulders to lean on. I deeply envy him for that. (I could take a deserved and truthful cheap shot here … but I’m better than that. You, however, should feel free to do so.) Tim didn’t grow up in California and has spent significant years throughout Europe in his adulthood. He’s lived away from his “growing up” home for a couple of decades, and I’m pretty sure we vote and spend money differently, too. With all that, ‘tho, he is perhaps PERFECTLY qualified to dispense advice to me and, while I may not always follow his guidance, I always listen carefully to it.

There are, also, the un-said things between us that we both notice. As we were leaving the mall, Tim was reminding me that I need to take better care of myself, and that the whole “job/life/health” thing will work out whether or not I worried about it … and I *was* listening, honest. But something had caught my eye and I just couldn’t let it go un-noticed. I stopped him mid-sentence and asked “hey – are we the stupidest two people here or what?” Without missing a beat he said “yeah, I know. Did you even SEE those when we walked in?”

At the front entry to the mall were two coin-operated Shiatsu massage chairs. This whole time, we’d been sitting in straight-back, cast-iron café chairs sans padding at all (save for the padding we carry naturally).

We kept walking out the door as Tim said “next time – next time, we head straight here, agreed?”

Agreed.

Three generations of life-long friendships

My closest, most dear friend is someone I went to Kindergarten with. I grew up a few acres away from her. (I can’t measure the distance by blocks, because I grew up sans blocks, or curbs, or paved roads.)

I can’t begin to guess the hours I spent in Karin’s home as a child, teen, and then adult. As we’d walk home from our elementary school, I’d spend 30 minutes watching afternoon cartoons at her place, before continuing to walk home. I remember helping her sister Lisa move from her apartment into her new home as a married woman. I remember hanging out with her brother Eric when Karin would be doing chores – the forts we’d create from couch cushions. I remember introducing Karin to Matt, the man she would marry. He was a close friend of mine from an evening church group I was involved with and he was (and still is) my “musical twin”.

I remember we stopped talking after my wedding engagement was cancelled. I remember spying her folks, Lee and Arne, several years afterwards in a local restaurant, and with a giant gulp of courage, walking to their table to give my regards – hoping that they’d pass along a message of “I miss you” to their daughter, which they did. I remember being thrilled that we could all pick up and move forward. I spent holidays, family events, birthdays and just random evenings with Karin and her extended family. In fact, I have spent more time with some of her cousins than with my own. I remember when Karin’s folks moved out of state after their children were grown, and I still think “there’s Karin’s house” when I drive past it to visit my folks.

I remember where I was when Matt called me to tell me that their first daughter had been born. And I *vividly* remember holding their second daughter less than 24 hours after she’d been born. Karin knows and understands my uneasiness around babies, and that she asked me to hold her daughter still touches my heart. (My reason for said “trepidation” is solid and this is neither the time nor the place.) I’ll always be able to say that I have known those girls since the days they were born.

What I find pretty interesting is that when Lee and Arne come to visit these days, we all hang out as adults and reminisce about our collective childhoods – Karin’s folks, Matt, Karin and I. Both Lee and Arne are native San Franciscans (just like both of my folks), and because I’ve been included as a family member for so long, I know the reference points and the family names they discuss. We remember various teachers from the point of view as “student” and “parent of student”. We update each other on “whatever happened to …” with names of kids that Karin and I went to school with. And, now that we’re all grown-ups, Karin and I are slowly letting her parents in on the REAL stories behind various events. (Apparently she hadn’t owned up to a sleepover we attended in the 8th grade when, at 2:30am, we six gals decided to go to the park in our night shirts … and maybe we MIGHT have TP’d a house ...)

Karin’s Grandmother (who we all called Nana) had a life-long, very dear friend. I remember thinking how terrific that was – that Nana had had this friendship for so long. I remember re-introducing myself to the friend at Nana’s funeral, and she was kind enough to say something like “don’t be silly, of course I remember you.” Lee has a life-long, very dear friend as well, and she named her youngest daughter after her in honor … Karin.

And she is my life-long, very dear friend.

Maybe I'm amazed

In the spirit of my "thanks" post from yesterday - as well as the whole feelings of "Spring is finally here”, “Thank God for the extra sunlight and warmth" and the celebration of Easter, I’d like to publically acknowledge people who are (or have been) in my life that have made an amazing difference to me.

First is a thank you to four men I met waaay back in 1982 … KW, HK, GW, and VD (actual initials, I kid you not) for teaching me the value of the proper expression and remaining true to oneself, even if you sound foolish doing so. Sometimes you must just say what you mean, without worrying about how educated or intelligent everyone else is and how you’ll be judged by them. Tom Cruise paraphrased this as “sometimes you just gotta say ‘what the …’”, but I learned it best from those four men.

From there, I need to nod to KD (whom I’ve known since she was KB) and NT (whom I’ve known since she was NB). Tho’ separated by years, miles (and occasionally silence), these two women know, laugh, cry, love and yell at, with, about, and to me. I’ve disappointed them more times than they’ll EVER admit (and they’ve occasionally scared the crap outta me, too), but it’s changed nothing about how we feel about each other. Considering the challenges we’ve tossed before each other, that’s rather enormous.

Onwards, I must smile to ES, TE, VB, JS, SG, and JP. These men ... each in their own ways … have educated me in the course of “life”. Not all of them are in my life today, for various reasons, but the lesson I picked up is still there. I hope that maybe I taught them a thing or two along the way, too. Otherwise I’d feel downright greedy.

And last, but by no means least, I’d like to shine a light on the 11 women and 5 men who have shocked me – left me positively gob-smacked – by reaching out, sharing their stories, lending support … and their general outpouring of love (and, in one truly amazing case, significant amounts of chocolate) over the past 45 days.

It may seem to be a stretch, considering some of my most recent entries, that I have a “be thankful” entry today. It’s no secret that 2008 has *not* been my favorite year thus far and this may be as good as it gets. But these 28 people, over the course of my life, have left their individual amazing marks, even by doing things that they’d probably deem as insignificant. It’s just my opinion that they’d be wrong in that assessment, and that’s enough to be thankful for.

Thank you clarity, thank you nothingness

In the workplace, I must say “thank you” maybe 80 or more times in a day. Thank you for letting me merge into your lane, thank you for holding the door for me, thank you for giving me my change from my coffee, thank you for transferring the call, thank you for delivering the mail, thank you for helping with the problem, thank you for attending the meeting, thank you for following up, thank you for asking the question … from the start to the end of my day, I thank folks a lot.

Strangely while I dole out honest, heart-felt thank yous, I’m AWFUL at accepting them. I always have a “no problem at all”, “my pleasure”, “it was nothing”, “don’t mention it”, “happy to help”, “no need to thank me – it’s my job” and the like at the ready. I don’t give people the opportunity to thank me probably because the things that I’m doing don’t feel “thank you” worthy … which is VERY different from being “sponge-worthy”.

I also notice when I’m not thanked for something that I would have given a “thank you” for if I’d received it. By “notice”, I don’t mean I write it down as a slight or a nasty mark next to a name or anything like that. I just think “hmmm … I wonder if that was as meaningful for the recipient as it was for me”, which usually leads to “maybe it never arrived or wasn’t received” and that flows nicely into “how can I ask if they got it without looking like I’m fishing for thanks”. (This may seem like a strange pathway of thoughts, but you can thank me for at least being honest.)

As an adult, I’ve given what I would describe as some pretty incredible gifts … from things that I created with my own hands to things I spent many thousands of dollars on, from birthdays to holidays to anniversaries to no-reason-at-all days (which are usually the most fun). I’ve also received some breathtaking gifts for all those same days and from that same range of cost. Some have brought me to tears because of the thought behind them or the generosity of the giver, and some made me howl with laughter and joy.

My usual routine after receiving a gift or a thoughtful gesture is to immediately get a “thank you” out there – a hand-written, heart-felt note or letter, not something done via phone or internet. I presume there was thought and time taken in getting the gift, and it seems obvious to me that I can spend a few moments from my day to properly acknowledge it. The thing is – I need to remember that’s MY “usual routine”. Just like some folks are surprised by being thanked for an act or gift they don’t see as worthy, others are surprised when a worthy act or gift goes unrecognized.

It’s a fine line that I make myself dance along, but I’m a good dancer. I got my two nearly-overdue thank you cards out this morning, and I know that both recipients will likely be surprised by getting a note and will accept my expression of gratitude graciously. As for being on the other end of a thank you (or a non-thank you, as the case may be), I’ll keep working on my dance moves.

Nerve

Well you certainly have your nerve!

You’re working on my last nerve.

Sorry I’ve touched on a nerve.

He has some nerve.

Did I strike a nerve?
***************************************

Hmmm ...it seems I’ve just lost my nerve.

Walking on a treadmill

After a certain amount of time passes and I become convinced that I am, in fact, moving ahead with my life, something in the universe runs a reality-check on me by turning up the pace of the treadmill I’m on. Most times it goes well, and sometimes it does not.

Because I’ve worked for as many years as I have in my company, and because of both paths of my career here, I know – and am known – by an awful lot of people who live all over the country … world, actually. It isn’t difficult to remember who I’ve talked with lately – it’s impossible.

Examples? I have LOTS. I (apparently) never told Ty any updates after my Dad’s heart attack in October. I haven’t seen Shirin in MONTHS. I hadn’t really talked with Karen until our hair “date” in December. I dropped a note to Eamon earlier this week, after last seeing him in – gosh, has it already been a year?? Last Mike – and Jim – and Kevin heard, we were all gonna be living in the same state soon. It took me a few weeks coming back from Sabbatical to remember to update Amy, who was really concerned about the health of my extended family. Todd has no clue I’ll be leaving soon. Tom probably doesn’t know I’m still here at all. Spencer, who is just now coming off from sabbatical, is wondering why I haven’t been to my desk since his return. Alex was wondering what my title is (and I had to remind him to send me photos, as he’s a new dad)! Sandeep wanted to know why he didn’t get a Christmas card. Jenifer hopes I’m ok. Dylan didn’t know ANYTHING about my job, or anything about what I’d been going through lately.

Even folks VERY high up in the food chain ask me questions I rarely expect. Ken didn’t see me at OTC this past week and was wondering if maybe I was in Mississippi. (To be fair, I didn’t know he’d moved to the Bay Area, so there ya’ go.) In fact, my closest and dearest friends are still owed gifts for things (moving into new homes, births of children) that I keep swearing I will get around to. My only excuse is that I’ve been distracted … which is true but still feels like a very lame explanation.

I never know when I’ll get the wind sucked outta my sails. For instance, I’ll be going to a very high-end event in April with Karen. I had planned on taking someone else as my guest, as a surprise, and had to update the list when I received the reminder notice today. I was successful in shaking that off, when I got another reminder notice from an unexpected place about something I’d done in October last year. And now I get the fun task of updating those involved with it, too. It feels like a chapter that everyone else gets to finish except me. And I'd say that I hate how it is ending, but it hasn't ended for me yet. Which is ... a problem. Which is my problem.

So yes, I’m walking forward. It’s just that sometimes the treadmill moves quicker than I do. I’m trying to remain determined to not fall behind, though. And I have a lot of people who wanna help me keep my pace. I just wish my destination hadn't been changed. I really liked where I was headed.

What happens in Vegas …

I talked with Scott last week, prior to the big once-a-year company meeting in Las Vegas. This meeting is the one where every sales person throughout the planet, every consultant, and most of our customers meet up under one roof … which is about an 8 to 9 thousand person audience. This is the meeting that I typically had to do the most work on when I was still reporting into the sales organization. (We have a second big company meeting in Las Vegas. It is geared towards education of our users, happens at the end of our year, and only involves about 5 thousand folks.)

My favorite sales guys and I used to use our free time during this big meeting to escape from everyone else and hang out. We’d find amazing places for dinner (Mix at The Hotel, Michael Mina’s at Bellagio), make friends with dealers at our “favorite” tables at a resort where we KNEW none of our coworkers would be … and I even took the two of them to a show once (which Andy nearly stayed awake for). There were things that I’d do for the two of them – just because I was able to – and we always had a terrific time.

One thing that was kinda quirky – I was their “ATM”. Knowing that there’s usually a high overhead for using any cash machines in a casino, I would bring far more cash with me than I’d ever need, and each night would give them whatever they wanted to use to play with. This prevented them from having to pay those goofy fees and, since I really liked watching them play cards (but typically don’t play myself), it was fun for all of us. They’d either win enough to repay me before the end of the trip, or they could just send me a repayment check whenever they got around to it. It was never a problem, it never got “weird” (sometimes lending friends cash can get VERY weird) and it worked out good for everyone.

Sometimes senior management got into the act, too. Perhaps one of my favorite “Only In Vegas” requests was when a new manager, Neal, called me and asked if I could hook him up with a significant amount of cash to give away for a meeting … in two hours. I called back to the main office and had the receptionist find me the nearest branch of my bank, grabbed a cab after I finished lunch, and came back with the amount, in cash, in 45 minutes. I handed Neal the envelope, filled with cash, and left the room to go check in on another meeting already in progress. I was told later that he asked my direct manager quite a few questions about what I’d done … I would have loved to have been able to hear that conversation.

Suffice to say that I loved being able to surprise my guys by going the extra mile, especially when they never asked me to. So it wasn’t too weird of a question that Scott asked me during our call last week. He and a few guys were gonna take some free time to visit Hoover Dam, and he wanted to know if it’d be cheaper to hire a driver for the day or just rent a large vehicle. But … well the wording he used was …. “unfortunate.”

“Oh and hey Jules – question … how much do you think it’d cost to get a Hummer in Vegas?”

Door #2, please.

First off thank you. Thank all of you for the thoughts, prayers, warm wishes, finger-crossings, drum beatings, funny jokes, lovely letters and just for plain remembering to think of me. I deeply appreciate it.

I am a very private person. This is completely opposed to my personality, which is very outgoing. However there are things in my life (note the word there … “my” … as in “belonging to ME”) that I do not talk freely or openly about. My personal life (note there's that word … “my” … as in “STILL belonging to ME”) is one of them – and it disappoints me terribly when details of my personal life are taken from me and tossed around as fun crap to talk about or speculate on. And before anyone thinks they know any specific time or event that I’m referencing here, just take a breath and stop. Trust me on this – unless you are either of my parents or my sister, you don’t have a clue.

So I need to find a way to talk about the status of my health that *I’m* comfortable with but that provides enough details to let everyone who has been so kind to me know what’s going on. Do I owe anyone that? No – honestly, if you were really thinking that then you need to move on. Friends don’t “owe” other friends that way. However, we’re all humans here and if I were to say “I don’t wanna talk about it”, you might think that things weren’t so good. If I were to say “I’m fine – let’s move on”, you’d likely think that this was just a big ol’ nothing. And neither of those things are true so here we go …

Having been down the “nasty health news” road before, it’d be easy to go into reactionary “take care of it” mode. I’m sure a lot of people would. I just didn’t. Not this time. After my return appointment last week, I heard quite a bit of advice from a lot of highly educated, well-trained professionals who see patients like me every day. They have a “usual routine” of how they deal with each medical situation and they presented that routine to me. I took a few days to think on it, made an appointment outside of the circle of folks originally involved and got a good old fashioned second opinion.

It may be that I liked the second-opinion’s “usual routine” response better. It may be that I’m tired of being poked and prodded. It may be that I don’t like the idea of people playing “Where’s Waldo” inside my body. Or maybe I’m just tired of all this energy I’ve spent thinking about me. It was fine when I was 19 years old to believe that I was important enough to be my sole focus … but I don’t have those blinders on anymore. I’ve seen too much sorrow, met folks with REAL problems, and have been to too many funerals for people younger than my current age to operate that way. The me of 39 years old knows better. I am going to follow “usual routine response #2”.

That’s my update. The people in my life who are truly owed any further explanation have received it already. I hope it satisfies any questions or concerns you may have had because it’s all I’m comfortable in providing.

In other news, I’ve been asked (again) to continue my job until the end of June. I (again) turned it down. I suspect that I’ll start looking for a second part-time gig in April or May, likely in a “serving the general public” role. Betcha THAT’ll be fun to write about. :-)

"Close" only counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and global-thermal nuclear war.

When I received the rather short, form notice on Monday asking me to make a follow-up appointment in Radiology (or, as I’ve been referring to it, my “by-request command encore appearance”), my eyes stared at the words on the small card. I can’t say that I actually READ the card, because the dialogue in my head went more like this: “I really wanna go buy the DVD of ‘All Of Me’ and watch that because that movie just CRACKS ME UP, and I really should get Jake washed tomorrow – oh, except I have to go to work – and that dentist appointment I have is when again? May something? And I really should call Scottie again to get my flames done on my mixer. Hmm - so there’s all these things that I have to do so I obviously don’t have Cancer – I have too much to do.”

In the most confident internal voice I could muster, I also told myself that I was only being asked to return because the camera had malfunctioned, and that they’d no previous images to go on, and that they had made a clerical error – this was all “their” fault. And I was doing alright with that, too … right up until I actually dialed the phone number.

I went to work on Tuesday morning, just like always. I waited until 8:30am when the office opened, picked up the phone and did my best to use my everyday, regular, no-big-deal voice. This was gonna be no different than making ANY appointment or ordering takeout. No big deal at all. I told the nurse who I was, my medical number and why I was calling – and then, without meaning to, she shattered me. She looked up my medical record number, CLEARLY read something on my file that was significant, and responded with “OH – ok. I’m gonna do some juggling here and – Wednesday – that’s tomorrow. Can you come in on Wednesday at 1pm? We found a questionable spot on one of the images. It’s probably nothing but we want you in here as soon as possible.” I think I said that I could. I don’t honestly remember what I said. I don’t remember ending the call. I don’t remember accomplishing ANY work from 8:45am onwards.

I realized that I had to make one phone call, but that I’d have to get my act together again before I did so. I couldn’t call my mom, or my sister, or any family. I just … couldn’t, and besides there was nothing to report. However, there was one person that I just had to talk with and hear from. It took me all day to gather myself. I’d just about be alright, and then – for no reason at all, with NO trigger, I’d feel water rolling down my face. At 4:30 on Tuesday, I finally called Tim. He was, of course, brilliant. He offered to go with me (which I’m SURE woulda been a real hoot for him!) and I told him that I’d call him when I knew something – anything – but that I didn’t think I’d know anything for sure for awhile. I drove home (I must have, anyway – I can’t say I remember doing so, though), curled up into a ball, ignored the mail and was in bed before 9pm, knowing that sleep would not be on the itinerary.

The next day (Wednesday) found me sitting in the parking lot of the hospital 45 minutes prior to my appointment. I checked in at the desk, and the attendant behind the counter told me it’d be about 30 minutes. I don’t know if he could tell that I was nervous, but he was good enough to make small talk with me (complimenting me on the coolness level of my old-school Vans) and I actually found myself laughing, which was unexpected.

At 1pm, I was taken into the exam room, where I was shown the results from the previous weeks’ scans. Rena, the nursing attendant, showed me the area that was causing eyebrows to raise and the next hour was spent by having minutes of significant pain followed by minutes of painful waiting and worry. I was in and out of that exam room no fewer than 4 times and more than a dozen images were taken. Each time I’d leave the room, I’d ask “ok so are we good yet?” and Rena would apologize and say “no hun – sorry … not yet.” I’m convinced she probably has the worst job ever, even when she has GOOD news to deliver.

Finally at 2:30pm, I was told that the doctor wanted to have an ultrasound done. I was officially freaked out.

Because they weren’t expecting me to need an ultrasound, I had to wait for a bit. It was only 20 minutes and actually, it went by fairly quickly. It seems that all the women I was waiting with were all “call backs”. We were all in the same scary boat. I was the youngest patient there, but maybe only by a decade. How many times would I have to deal with this kind of dread in the next 20 … 30 years? How many times had they had to return from a routine exam?

The ultrasound attendant was soft-spoken and calm. She told me what she’d be doing, positioned the screen so that I could see whatever she was seeing, and froze the image about 8 or so times to capture images. I had no idea what part of what I was seeing to be rooting for or against, and her face was still and solid as she reviewed what the scanner was showing to us.

The doctor came in shortly thereafter. Blood was taken, questions were asked (by the doctor and by me) and I was given a 75% … meaning that I’m probably fine but that the doctor would “try” to call me on Thursday (today) with the remaining 25% (the blood work and a final review of all the tests done by her colleagues). I actually found the nerve to tell the doctor to “try hard” to call me today, and she smiled and said that she understood. Turns out she’s a survivor herself so she really DOES know what is going through her patients minds while they’re with her. She had a few tests and trials being conducted that she may recommend me for because of my genetic history. She reminded me that the hospital will only send out a reminder notice every other year until I’m 50, but that she’d like to see me once a year. “Yeah, you don’t have to worry about that”, I told her. While this experience has NOT been enjoyable, and even without officially knowing the results yet, I know this is something I’ll be very on top of from here on out.

I called Tim and, when he picked up the phone, I said “well, it looks like you’re stuck with me.” I told him I got an all-clear (which is 75% accurate, I realize) and made him laugh with details that I haven’t shared here.

I am still waiting for the doctor to call me today with that 25% bit of news, and it’s Noon. I’ve not yet talked with my sister or my mom because again, there’s still nothing to report. I'm only 75% close to being alright. What I do know is that there were women in that room with me yesterday who didn't get a 75% “alright” diagnosis. I have folks looking out for me today and pushing for that remaining 25%, so I’m gonna push for that 75% for everyone else.

Here’s to wishing us all good news.

Ginormous potholes in the road to hell

Yesterday my mom and I headed to the movie theater to watch "Enchanted". It was a flick she knew that her two perfect granddaughters were too young for but that she wanted to see. I have Mondays off, so I decided that a little distraction from life would be a good thing for both of us. The road to hell is paved with these good intentions, right?

I made the mistake of opening my mail just as she arrived for our movie. Further, I made the mistake of being cocky about opening one piece of mail in particular - the results of my mammogram. I figured that after my father having a heart attack in October, my cousin having her second round of Cancer in mid-January, and my aunt (the cousin's mom) now perishing from her OWN round of Cancer diagnosed at the end of January, I'd get a pass. I've done my time. I've paid my dues. This would be a slam dunk. This note would read "thanks for showing up for your first ever mammogram. First off, nice rack!!! We were very impressed that you volunteered to do this preventative procedure - several months early even! GOOD for you! That shows great judgment on your part. Oh, and yeah, we found nothing unusual there (save again for the spectacular nature of said items being examined) so see you next year."

But it doesn't work that way.

More accurately it didn't work that way.

But I couldn't react, because my mother was standing right there ... and her sister is the "aunt" mentioned above. And her niece is the "cousin" mentioned above. Adding "daughter" to that list just didn't seem like a very Christian thing to do at the time.

So yesterday in the mail I was told to return for more testing for something the doctors found in my stupid, clearly-not-spectacular-at-all "rack". I went to the movies with my mom. We watched "Enchanted" about the lost and afraid princess living in an overwhelming world, being chased by the evil and scary step-mother who wants to kill her and who is finally rescued by a guy who steps forward and says "yeah, actually, I DO believe in you."

I went home and I called to make my appointment - which is for tomorrow at 1pmPT. Then I went to the grocery store to buy items for a dinner I would not make and wouldn't have been able to eat anyway. I wound up not going in because I was too messy for pubic viewings.

I stand by my "terms" post made earlier today. These scribblings of mine will NOT be about the state of my health, head, or heart. But I'll take your pity, your prayers, and any good calming breezes you'd like to send my way. Or, if you have a way to fill in the potholes I keep falling into, that'd be appreciated, too.

Terms

What I'd like for this to NOT be:
This will NOT be a blog about my health - mental or physical.
This will NOT be a blog about the state of my heart - good, bad, or otherwise.
This will NOT be a blog about my personal life, 'tho obviously I will make comments that draw directly from those experiences.

What I'd like for this to be:
This will just be an observational journal ... a view from above ... my random braindumps for me to consider and, because we all believe our ideas to be publish-worthy, maybe start a commentary or dialogue elsewhere ... as in "you're wayyyyyyyyyy off base" or "yeah, me too".

I'm willing to be told that I'm wrong, that I'm misinformed, that I'm biased or absolutely dead off because it will introduce me to other suggestions or ideas.

I'm willing to fall to grace. Let's see what happens ...