ep14

JANUARY 1, 2001      2:23 A.M.
My dreams began tonight in the softened rotunda of a timekeepers house; a place I've dreamt before. My work is sketching clocks onto soft homemade paper and transferring them to the plaster walls, the circular surfaces of this old man's abode. It is the calmest place in my repertoire of dreams and I am glad that I have come. But this dream is from tonight (another good omen) and the new hopes I e-mailed so many of you about comes from yesterday.
   My spouse brought home high energy foods, loading me with liver pate, Tiger's Milk bars and I spent the morning outside in the workshop. At first I took up the walnut pieces, but they didn't yield. My fingers have lost so much feeling that I cannot do more than gouge the surfaces away, taking too much, leaving too little. Then a piece I haven't worked on in months pulls my attention. It's a cedar branchlet, almost 3 feet high, and as I take my newly sharpened tools in hand it begins to melt beneath my fingers. I see the grain coming out just so .. and so .. and so. I cannot put the piece down. For hours I work on a tiny section. A foot. And I know that this is the talisman piece of the year. It's a humorous piece, all sexuality and sin and laughter and running from and running to. Now it's dry and the wood shapes like butter beneath the newly sharpened tools. I am encouraged.
As I sit there on my lambswool-covered stool, in the center of my new cosmos, the woodshed of my reality.. I see the books of seed packets piled askew from last fall, then my eye drifts to the propagation matts and I remember how, just a couple of winters ago I started globe artichokes seeds on a first of January, and reaped a single flower of such exquisite flavor that I began 12 new feet of raised beds to grow this California blossom. I consider all the projects I let go fallow beginning that year while I worked the full-time job, putting in many hours making money to escape, and many more resting from the task while the work I loved sat unfulfilled: sifting manure for the raised beds, hauling and arranging and rearranging plants to set off my sculptures and feed the table and the eye with viands of color, texture, shape, taste; searching the woods for woods to caress in the long nights and days of winter into hymphs and night- and day-creatures.
    My marital relationship on Thanksgiving Day this year demanded a miracle and this disease has given me one, I think. My spouse accepts my cancer and my willingness, no .. the prerequisite .. to forfeit salary to its reality. And all the while he pets me, bruised and broken and swollen though I am, through the darkest of my despairs. He builds a lean-to that I can see from my window and places birdseed there in hopes the wild turkeys will come close enough for me to watch. We laugh at the thought of our cats stalking these large gamebirds, knowing they will. We start to talk as we did long ago and I know that this too, is a sign of new beginnings.
   And I think of these things, there as the smoke from the woodstove swirls around me and the cedar oil seeps into my deadened fingers. I know I'll smell of cedar for hours and it will overpower the chemotherapy smell for a little while.
   But now it is predawn and my head grows weary again and I return to my clockkeeper, walking softly in stockinged feet through the hallways of His calm existence, knowing He will keep me gainfully employed sketching time upon His walls.
   Joyous 2001 to all of you.

In the beginning

episode 13

epidode 15

JANUARY 2, 1:44 A.M.
A change in attitude doesn't necessarily solve all the dilemmas. Mother sends relatives into a tailspin telling the world that I am dead and I try to reassure her via phone that it is not so. She chainsmokes, I'm told; no doubt in an effort to die before the fifth of her six children and I pity her and yet cannot help her. Her dementia will prevent her from remembering in an hour that I am alive or ever was. I hope the relatives will consider this and spend time and calls and ideas filling her days so I don't have to. I have not the strength for her frailty.
   I make lists in my head of the queries to pin the oncologist down with come tomorrow: how can I keep my eye from weeping; the bloodpressure pills make me like a quaking aspen for too many hours; how many bananas will it take to get rid of the cramps in my feet; will this damnable swelling in my head last forever; how can I change to pitch of the ringing in my ears to make it more like music; what's my cellcount and when will I know how much longer I have.
   Meanwhile I clean, clearing out the debris of the holidays, begin to use up materials .. yarn, yardgoods, seed packets.. that I've saved for years, for projects I knew I'd get to someday.
Sleep still only comes in small spurts and I know this is my mind saying hurry up hurry up hurry up there's just too much to do. And Rodd reassures me that even when I was well there was never enough time for me to do the things I wanted to do. Chastising me that 'geez, you're calling this attitude new?'   He heartens me these days and that ... is definitely new.

JANUARY 3, 2001 1:02 A.M.
I don't have a darn thing good to say this morning. So have a nice day all by yourselves, and wish me a better day tomorrow..
SAME DAY, 6:57 P.M.
Guess my moodiness this morning was intuition working again. Nice to know that part of me hasn't changed much. My blood counts look ok but we decided enough other things didn't to get another MRI of my brain late this afternoon. Shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. I've never been a crowd follower and the fact that my symptoms aren't following the textbook .. I have weird things going on they've NEVER seen before .. and the things they're expecting to happen aren't showing up at all .. well .. it's me, after all, isn't it.
I won't go into the discussions at all: "speculation unrefined / demands disturbance of the mind" still applies, even in this context. But hopefully the pics from the MRI will answer some questions tomorrow. Meanwhile, I'm sincerely hoping to sleep through the night tonight so if any of you have any lullabies .... pls sing to me.

I search the predawn windows of the place where I sit writing
for the words to ask the doctor just how far he will go

to make me fit statistics from the book with loosened pages
that he's thumbed just like a Bible on cancer and its growth

How can I tell him how I fear him and the ego that he trails?
The male who for millennia has filled up graves and jails
Justifying death and sorrow just to prove their theories right
How can I beg this young physician to take his ego from this fight?

But I'll probably keep my silence         Take it all upon the chin
Let him tell me what is best for me           Let him once again just win
Stroke his ego like I'm used to with the males that I surround
Hoping someday I'll find just one who....

Dear Lord      save me from myself.

JANUARY 4, 2001 - 10:12 P.M.
What can I say? The results of the MRI are miraculous. The brain tumor is not there .. there are changes to the area from the radiation (like holes, I'm guessing) but the tumor is gone. One more radiation treatment tomorrow and then chemo for several months .. and oh yeah the chemo seems to be doing some good, too. So everyone please get on your knees with me and thank the good Lord and His winning ways of science for keeping me around. And oh yeah ... help me back up when you're done .. cause I'll be danged if I can get off the floor by myself. :-
JANUARY 5, 2001; 3:21 A.M.
Up for my predawn feeding; made apple pie last night to celebrate. Too sweet (the pie? the news?) My knees still fail to support me; and I shuffle rather than walk. Number 3 son and I discuss brain regrowth on our long journeys to the medical community and back. The tumor was in an area that controls small motor skills and balance and I know, from my inability to water a plant without slopping, from my penmanship, from my piecrust, that this area definitely needs regrowth and I wonder how long it will take. As a family we discuss how I now have new space to fill in my brain, as well. If you had these options what new information would you install? Long term memories? Short term data? People? Places? Ideas?
When we first bought this land, I dreamt a sculpture garden where visitors could share my ideas and my love of the land with me.. Perhaps I will fill my quiet regrowth hours creating this gift. I know, even with the tumor gone, that small cell cancer never completely goes away, it just rests before beginning again. But I will keep fighting it; because there really is so very much more I want to do; so very much more I want to see; and so very much more I want to become.

JANUARY 6, 3:37 A.M.
I am still so very excited about this new hole in my head that .. I just can't hardly see to type. So instead I'll clean corners unseen in months and throw out old rags and old ideas and consider the new lease I've been given and how I'll write the paragraphs of this lease. It may be premature.. these considerations.. because the small cell cancer in my lungs may want to lurk awhile in hopes of hanging on to squatter's rights; but for now, for today and tonight, I'll ignore that invader and celebrate this gift by living with new rules. Rules with me at the center of the universe.. and at the knee of God, in thanks.

JANUARY 8, 12:54 A.M.
I'm not a good patient; I keep breaking the rules. My body is rigid much of the time; the cellular level too busy fighting to worry much about relaxing. I hold myself taut without meaning to. My shoulders and back especially feeling as though they are encased in plaster of paris. I think about the daily trips to the clinic for radiation.. wandering through to get there past every imaginable disease and I wonder what more a hottub soak could do that hasn't been done already. So I dine on an evening moonrise, letting the jets beat into my shoulders and lower back. It relaxes me enough to allow me to sleep for nearly 6 hours uninterrupted. And that is worth it alone.
The moonrise was delicious. Nearly full, I saw her with a gossamer veil, her face round like mine and head covered, like mine, shining down upon the new snow like a promise.
Got a question for you: I would like to sell some of my sculptures online .. does anyone have any suggestions of sites that take consignments? or shall I auction them? or just see what I can do locally? I predict my rafters will begin to overflow shortly with stuff in progress and I like to keep the shelves bare. I've gifted all I plan to gift for awhile; and the scratch is always good from someone forcibly retired.. to put a little jingle in her pocket. You all know my e-mail, right?
Love ya .. always ... all ... deb

JANUARY 9, 1:35 A.M
The artichokes opened to the world splitting through their coating,
(perhaps) just at the time a woman,
drunk at 6 a.m., split asunder the 4x4 truck we share with the credit union..
They are both safe.. sad lady and my spouse;
he'll take time off to heal, with cuts and bruises and lots of aching as a reminder.
I guess I won't be taking the 4x4 into the woods this year after all.

I really don't know what to make of all this. Lord.. you're watching (creating?)the fallout.
What's the message here for me?
Guess I'll just plant the artichokes and leave the rest; motivation without understanding has too many pitfalls for me right now.

JANUARY 11, 2001; 5:05 AM.   I feel like writing less and less these days, not knowing how to say that I want to stop thinking about this cancer. My eyes still give me lots of trouble, maintaining the film in spite of the eyedrops and humidity increases. Wearing goggles in the workshop might help, but would also, I'm sure be an impedence, or I would view it as such. I spend as many hours as I can there during the day and have now rigged an old lamp on extension cords to see in the darkness when it's warm enough and I have the need to be alone..
I'm also cleaning .. incessantly .. the buildings that I've piled things in since we moved back to my homeland six years ago.. Trying to make room in the workshop for more wood, give away things we've saved and will never use. Clearing out my life as the radiation has cleared out my brain.
   I go in for bloodcounts today and maybe that has something to do with my pensiveness. I wish for something new to happen. Something new to see or do or be. Relying upon others for diversity is a lot more work than I have the energy for today; so I'll just hope for small tensions and internal patience and good news.
   And when I return I'll nap and work in the shop and answer e-mails and be happy for the beautiful full moon I had the pleasure to view.      Have a great day everyone. Thank you for your prayers and e-mails. D
JANUARY 18, 4:00 A.M.
Platelet counts look good, folks. A little too stressed out, a little too much sugar, a little too whiny (like That's a surprise). But overall things are still looking pretty darn fine. I've been flying from project to project like a moth looking for the heat of the flame; drawing in the warmth of accomplishing things I've put off for years. Crocheting, cleaning, rearranging, sculpting, cooking, writing letters back to people whose prayers and support and warmth have kept me from falling off the edge of the sanity belt.
   The globe artichokes are pushing their way up through the soil already. The plants will be 6 feet across when they sent up their flowers in August; until then I' need to make sure they get a steady dose of tender loving care and as much light as I can muster. Perhaps the bunch of us, plants and I, will have to get a sunlamp and sit together relaxing and talking dirt. Stop on by sometime and have a lemonade with us.
JANUARY 13, 3:00 A.M.
I read what I wrote in yesterday's predawn and realize how it sounds .. as though I had tons of energy and were just buzzing around like a killer bee looking for trouble. Not quite that way, but I do feel pretty good about things, all in all, and try to get a few hours a day in getting organized again. The postal carrier showed up midafternoon banging on the door while I was on my knees digging leftovers out of the bottom-back of the fridge. I was unable to lift myself up off the floor and had to hollar for her to come and in and give me her arm to return to my feet. I know it's just the drugs keeping me so weak and that it Will get better; but one does feel like such a fool being so helpless (and without a hangover to testify to the fun it was getting that way. :-))
JANUARY 14, 4:17 A.M.
Ah-ha, you say, sleeping in? I forced myself to shuffle on down the hill yesterday to a shed by the side of the road. Once there I piled old computer parts and components to ready them for pickup and haul away. Then, oh so very slowly, resting ever 10 steps or so, I worked my way back up the hill again. It's the first time I've walked that far in weeks. Of course I was worthless the rest of the day; but baby steps are baby steps and in this new career of living I am, after all, just a baby. And then .. the most romantic thing happened. My hub brought me a small bowl of Valentine hearts. You know the kind? With little buzz phrases on them; nothing but sugar. Hope springs eternal. I slept well. Hope you .. all of you .. have your prayers answered as well.
P.S. It has been suggested I sell some of my stories. Anyone out there interested in purchasing? Or sharing advice on marketing?
JANUARY 15, 2:03 A.M.
I tried to rearrange one of the sheds yesterday and got into another 'I've fallen and can't get up scenario.' Spouse says I'm just pushing too hard; I fear, in these dark hours, that it's more than that. I realize the chemotherapy is working and will suck my strength to kill these rapidly dividing cancers. And that once the therapy is done the strength may return. But....         for the last several years I've wanted to be done with life. I've felt there really wasn't all that much I was going to get to see; not all that much I felt I needed to do. I'd fallen into this lethargic existence of just get up, go to work, watch people around me living while I got up, went to work. No dreams, no ideas, no plans beyond getting through another day. Now, unannounced, unexpected comes this option of a Mother Deathwatch. Wasn't this what I asked for? Shall I say to Him .. wait .. this isn't Quite what I wanted? I feel as though I were scratching frantically now, like a hen in a bonedry farmyard begging to find a cool wet worm of reality to sink my teeth into and yet realizing that the there's been no rain for too long .. the worms are too deep .. there is no food. I know I need to keep fighting or become a (probably recalled) chicken patty; but sometimes it's just darn hard to keep tilting at the windmill I can't see, that's killing me from the inside out.
Meanwhile, I've decided to test the spouse's theory. I'll wear a watch now. Time myself with specified periods of labor followed by specified periods of rest. And no more getting on hands and knees outside .. or inside .. or anywhere, unless there's already an arm nearby to help me up again. Carry a cellphone and .. most importantly .. try not to forget that when looking in a rearview mirror, objects often appear closer than they are.
JANUARY 16, 2:27 A.M.
Undergoing chemotherapy is kind of like being transported to another planet. A planet with much more gravity, much less oxygen, and less people. Everything is heavier.. half again as heavy anyway. There's only 1/2 the oxygen to draw upon; you look on your shadow and realize that there's only half of you visible to get the tasks done you want completing. No wonder I get testy and fearful and depressed.
   I start a new session of chemo tomorrow; worrying too much wondering about transportation issues and taking advantage of friends who have lives they'd rather be conducting than conducting me. Wondering how I can pay them back for their kindnesses .. me .. who feel as though I've been selfish all my life and now don't know how to pay back.     Talk to my sister .. my new friend .. and she understands and makes me warm in her understanding. Talk to God and get no reply beyond a small warm fuzzy and more questions than answers.
   Exploring a new planet can be a good thing. I just have to become more patient and explore more slowly and perhaps, in the exploration, discover new strengths with which to make me stronger when I return to earth again..
JANUARY 17, 5:50 A.M. Thought about it .. and again .. and decided to take a break here for a few days while doing the new chemo jig. Thanks for checking back in the next week or so. And enjoy life in your own backyard.
JANUARY 23, 7:40 P.M. Has it really been nearly a week? Guess so.. though it's passed in zzzzz's for me. This last chemo, or perhaps the last of steroid in combination with the chemo has kept me undercover (literally) since last I was here. Even got to the point for several days running when I couldn't come up with a pulse on my handy dandy bloodpressure monitor. Now that's dog tired. But I'm coming round again, wondering how much more my body is willing to endure... always wondering.
Am hatching a story, during my almost asleep times .. about gullibility .. and my history with same .. should be able to read it here, somewhere, soon. Meanwhile I'm off, once again, to lala land.
JANUARY 26, 7:30 A.M.
My apologies for all the e-mails, cards, letters, phone calls I haven't answered in the last week. I'm still here; just having trouble communicating. My thoughts flit like a hummingbird from flower to weed, thought to dream - sucking the essence - trying to get full and never quite succeeding. Maybe tomorrow.
JANUARY 28, 6:10 A.M.
I'm still having a lot of trouble following through with coherent thought.. Words come slowly, if at all. I've been told what is lost in radiation cannot, like losses in strokes, be regained. My sons says that's nuts; brains can indeed regenerate, like lungs. Anyone out there hear / know anything that applies?
   Wow, almost February. It's been two months since this saga began. Don't know what to say about that except that now, perhaps, I'll care whether or not that rodent sees his shadow.
JANUARY 30; 5 A.M.
I'm starting to heal (some) from the radiation burns. Though my head, neck and shoulders are still swollen as though I wore football safety gear under my skin, my scalp is starting to itch. Gingerly scratching with a single fingernail brings away dime-sized sections of scalp, some with hair, most not. I'm left, in those areas, with babybottom smooth, tender new scalp. I sleep with a lovely soft rabbit fur on my pillowcase and am comforted.
JANUARY 31; 6:55 A.M.
   I look forward, tentatively, to leaving the property this weekend for someplace other than a medical facility (it's been two months since that's happened). I'm concerned, however, with my endurance. Right now I go 3 to 6 hours, depending upon my energy usage, before I hit the wall and have to sleep, without delay.
   But I'm guessing, based upon past excursions with the hub, that the amount of walking required will be a bit beyond my capacity. In short, it might not get me all the way from whereever he decides to park, to the event.
   Soooo, if you read in the Sunday paper about a lady found sleeping on the sidewalk on State Street in Madison .. it'll probably be me.
FEBRUARY 4, 10:34 A.M.
   It's getting more and more difficult to write here. Hearing of the devastation in others' lives makes my own situation appear petty and insignificant. After all, thousands learn they have cancer daily, thousands live from it and thousands die. And there's much more pain in the world than that caused by cancer.
   By the way, though I enjoyed Kites on Ice yesterday, I enjoyed spending time with my two youngest sons more.
   In light of my current writer's block, I suggest to those who have followed this narrative to immerse yourselves in life; and I will, as mothers everywhere have encouraged since time began, say nothing at all if I can't say something good. Thanks, all, for your continued love and support.
FEBRUARY 6, 2001: 1:37 P.M.
Good News: the sun is shining!
   Will go back to the hospital tomorrow to start my next chemo session. Can't say I'm excited about it, other than the idea that it will be one more session over-and-done-with come Friday, except for purging the residue..
I've been remiss in my correspondence the last little while. Not sure if it's 'cause I can't come up with the words or if I'm just getting lazy; maybe a little bit of both. Feel free to use either/or to excuse me; and thank you
FEBRUARY 9, 2001; 2:12 AM.
Well.. 4th session of chemo is over and my my.. wasn't that special. Each time I attend one of these by-invitation-only soirees, I learn something more about what chemo is doing for me. This time I learned that it has the ability to hide my veins!! I sit here typing with bandaids on the backs of both hands and inside one elbow. It actually took jabs in five locations on both arms to find cooperative veins; and though the nurses spewed a medical term for the phenomenon, I was unable to retain more than the fact that the "chemo does it." They've promised me, as well, that it'll only get worse. So the last two chemo sessions (if I go there) will be more of the same, but worse....    hmm. Of course, although I have lots of places to look for veins, it's important to stay as far away from the heart as possible when injecting these chemicals, so something as close as the elbow is really Not recommended. Luckily, the 3rd jab in my left hand was successful .. this time. So I ask you folks .. I have another session of chemo coming up the end of February... could anybody lend me a hand?                             (ooooo forgive me)