Deck the Halls

Thanksgiving has passed and the house is now decorated for Christmas with the exception of the tree which is on the side of the house waiting for a stand to miraculously materialize.  I began the yuletide decorating on Black Friday while others were out looting and pillaging.  I didn’t get to decorate last year because the hall bathroom flooded and the house was a disaster.  We didn’t have a tree either which I believe was a first.  My son and my cousin got most of the bins down on Thanksgiving Day after I asked if they had heard of the “will work for food” concept.

Over the last forty years I have amassed at least eight bins of Christmas trimmings.  There are the many different stockings I have hung by the chimney with care for my son including First Christmas, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and for the last few years a sports-themed stocking.  I also have the ornaments I purchased each year for my son.  We have the handmade, the homemade and the school projects.  I have an assortment of items purchased at the Gifts and Gadgets parties I attended each year at my cousin’s house.    

Sadly I have no ornaments from my childhood.  One year when my mom and I went to retrieve the decorations from the basement of the home we lived in, they were gone.  What lowly thieves would steal someone’s Christmas memories?  We suspected the neighbors in the house behind us but had no proof.

The Christmas tree will find its place in the room that we added in 2004.  For some reason we have never been able to attach a name to that room.  I wanted to be grand and call it the solarium but that sounded pompous so I tried sunroom.  It has been referred to by others as the back room, the family room, the Martha Stewart room (because of the décor) and most commonly, the new room.

I bought all new decorations that year from the Martha Stewart collection at K-Mart.  It is kind of a woodsy theme with pine cones and hedge hogs, the colors a mossy green and burgundy.  Martha has since moved on to Macy’s leaving us regular folks behind to mourn her departure.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Macy’s.  I go there once a month after my hair appointment.  Unfortunately by the time I peruse the clothing I am too tired to check out anything else.

I have the urge to bake holiday treats but I am a Weight Watcher trying to lose weight for the umpteenth time.  My son works out and although he indulges himself with pizza and candy I don’t want to add temptation.  Of course I would share the baked goods with family and friends, I just don’t know if I want to torture myself in the process.

Hope you and yours have a great holiday. 

Happy Halloween

Halloween is my favorite holiday.  On the surface it seems like a day for children but I believe it gives the rest of us a chance to feel like a kid again.  It is part of the fall season which I have already mentioned as my favorite time of year. 

I like to decorate for Halloween at the beginning of October.  This involves removing some of the fall decorations I just set out a month before.  Once Halloween is over I bring those decorations out again plus add the few Thanksgiving decorations I have.  Those of you who know me are not surprised by this OCD behavior.  

As a child I remember dressing up as a black cat, skeleton, ghost and Frankenstein complete with battery-operated red bolts at my neck.  One year I trick or treated in a red devil outfit my cousin Danny had worn the year before.  My choice of costumes verifies that I was a bit of a tomboy; no Cinderella or Minnie Mouse here.   

We could hardly wait for the sun to go down and I don't ever remember being accompanied by an adult.  I had older cousins and we went as a group.  We traveled blocks from home.  Of course this was eons ago and an entirely different time.

The variety of offerings we received ran the gamut.  At one house we might be given a penny; at another an apple.  My least favorite was a solitary walnut or peanut.  I remember one old lady answering the door with a brown bag in her hand.  She dipped a "teaspoon" into the bag and dropped a couple of kernels of popcorn into my trick or treat bag.  I'll never forget that.  My aunt and uncle's neighbor made peanut butter cookies each year and some people gave out popcorn balls.  As I said this was a different time.   

Sometimes we would be asked in by the person answering the door so their spouse could see our costumes.  We would go in!  I remember being a bit apprehensive but I did it anyway.  This would be unheard of today.  Luckily for us we only encountered good people.

After a couple of hours we trudged home, tired yet eager to look over our bounties.  One year we were chased home by the neighborhood bullies, two brothers who lived on the next street.  They were trying to steal our trick or treat bags.  We made it to the safety of my Grandma's house goodies still in hand.

The first ten years in this house I baked a table full of cupcakes, cookies and pumpkin bread for family, friends and their children each Halloween.  Some of my daycare parents would return with their children to participate in the festivities which included bobbing for apples.  As the years passed the number of people attending my Halloween party declined and on year ten nobody came.  When my friend Molly called to say she wasn't coming, I told her I wouldn't be doing it again.  True to my word I didn't bake the next year.  When my son Jordan and I returned from trick or treating the phone rang.  It was Molly.  She said you were serious about not baking weren't you?  She and her children had come over and when no one answered the door she peeked through my dining room window and saw the bare table.

A few years ago I began hosting a different kind of party now that the children are grown.  I bake a few goodies but the star of the event is a pot of garbanzo soup.  It is my grandma's recipe and my mom, son, aunties, cousins and friends gather at my dining table to enjoy a meal that warms their tummies and the cockles of my heart.

My Favorite Season

Autumn is my favorite time of the year. I like the colors, the weather and the holidays. For me, fall is a time of new beginnings. That probably goes back to my childhood and the start of school. At that time school began near the end of September because of the prune season. Many families picked prunes and they needed their children's help as well. I still can’t get used to school starting before August is even over.

I remember a more definite change in seasons. The weather was a little cooler than summer and the sun cast longer shadows. School clothes were wool skirts and cardigan sweaters for the girls and boys still wore jeans but with plaid shirts or striped tees. My mom always bought me oxford shoes which I detested. I had big feet and I thought those shoes made my feet look even bigger. One year she bought me plain white when I wanted the two-tone type the other girls were wearing. I felt like I might as well wear the shoe boxes.

I entered third grade after a summer of listening to rock and roll on my transistor radio. For those of you under 60 my radio was about the size of a pack of cigarettes. I had developed a habit of humming. I didn't realize I was doing it until my teacher pointed it out to me.....several times.

There was never a mystery about who our teachers would be.  There were two classes for each grade and most teachers stayed year after year. Going into fourth grade I expected Mrs. Purdy would be my teacher. Her stern demeanor had given her a reputation of being mean. She had a shock of white near the front of her otherwise dark hair which earned her the nickname of "skunky Purdy." I was really dreading fourth grade. Before class on the first day of school I had to stop by the foyer to learn my class assignment. To my surprise I was scheduled with a Mrs. Josephine. I was cautiously optimistic until I entered the classroom and saw the familiar black and white hair. My teacher was Mrs. "Josephine" Purdy.

The type of food we eat changes with the seasons. Summer barbecues and light suppers give way to comfort foods like stews, soups, casseroles and roasts. I was a picky eater as a child. I didn't like vegetables at all. I remember walking in the door after school and smelling the aroma of beef stew or stuffed bell peppers which my grandma had spent hours cooking. I would sit at the table, arms crossed and pout. I'm sure my grandma fixed me something else. Luckily I grew out of that stage. I just wish my grandma was still here so I could enjoy all the foods I refused back then.

It's funny how payback works. When my son was a child he’d come in to the kitchen where I was cooking what I thought was a delicious meal.  He would lift each lid to check the contents then look at me and ask, "What am I going to eat?"

I like to bake and fall is the best time for that. I especially like to make sweet breads, cakes and crisps. Pumpkin or carrot bread, carrot or applesauce cake and apple crisp are some of my favorites. 

Decorating for holidays is another of my passions.  I bring down my fall bins at the beginning of September.  I take out each newspaper-wrapped decoration with a mixture of excitement and nostalgia.  The beautiful colors add so much warmth to my home.

For me fall marks the beginning of “the holidays” although Halloween is the first major holiday we celebrate in autumn.   The time goes by quickly and Thanksgiving soon follows.  As a matter of fact do you realize there are only 78 shopping days until Christmas?   

Whittling Down My Bucket List

Two weeks ago I was able to check a major entry off my bucket list. I saw Alan Jackson in concert. He was appearing at a winery in Murphys. I had never heard of this place and was surprised that a big county star was appearing there. I bought the tickets in April after a prolonged debate with myself over what price tickets to buy. Then I thought, for heaven's sake, it's a one-time event and went for the best.

After I completed treatment last year my oncologist had suggested I take a vacation but I didn't feel like it. I was happy to be at home, just feeling good again. Earlier this year I thought about how I wanted to see Alan Jackson and decided to do it. Mecca Ann had suggested we take a trip somewhere so I asked her if she wanted to go with me and she agreed.

The day before the concert I drove to Fresno to pick her up and thankfully she took over the wheel for the rest of the trip. The three-hour drive to Arnold lead us through beautiful scenery along a mostly winding road. Though the landscape was breathtaking it felt like we weren't getting anywhere because after a while it all looked the same.

I saw an expansive bridge in the distance and said, "I see something coming up that I am not too happy about."

She asked, "The bridge?"

I said, "Yeah, are we going across that?"

"I think so."

As we got closer we stopped to take a picture of the bridge which was green, my favorite color. I stayed in the car and as she walked up the road I had a scary thought about her falling over the side of the road into the canyon. When she got back in the car she said, "I was thinking, what if I fell over the side?" I told her I had the same thought and we cracked up.

Some time had passed as I was taking in the vistas when I said, "I'm going to ask a dumb question but did we already go over the bridge?"

"Uh, yeah, we had to get across that water."

We arrived in Arnold where I had booked two nights accommodations. By the time I got around to booking a room there were no vacancies left in Murphys. Arnold is only another twelve miles up the road. When we checked in I asked the motel clerk where we could get something to eat and she told us about a restaurant directly across the street. We were advised that it closed at 9 PM. We found out that everything closes at nine in Arnold.

We had to be at the winery at five the next day. Once we were let in, there was an open bar and appetizers were served. The doors to the dining room opened to beautifully set tables. The room shimmered. We sat with a lively group and had a good time. I got a little buzz and started to sip water. I decided not to finish my dinner because I didn't want to take a chance that I might get sick. I sure didn't want to miss a minute of the concert.

Shooter Jennings was the opening act. I had heard of him but wasn't familiar with his music. He was great. The crowd was rowdy and there was a lot of drinking going on. Once Shooter finished, I was excited for Alan Jackson to come out and then I spotted a cowboy on a balcony at the side of the stage. "Is that him? Is that him?" I started waving as he came down the stairs but it was just a guy in a cowboy hat.

Finally Alan Jackson came out and I started jumping up and down, waving and screaming. He was so good. He sang most of his hits. He told stories and tossed guitar picks out to the audience. He is really gorgeous. I was staring at him so intently I told Mecca Ann I couldn't believe he didn't sense it. His performance lasted for an hour and a half. I was so thrilled. I hated for it to end.

It was a great trip and we plan on taking another soon.

I just thought of something to add to my bucket list. See Alan Jackson again.

Pass the popcorn........and tissue

I love chick flicks.  Should I be embarrassed to admit that?  Well, I'm not.  Some of my all-time favorite movies (that I watch more than I should) are When Harry Met Sally, Murphy's Romance, Green Card, Sleepless in Seattle, You've Got Mail (I seem to have a Meg Ryan thing too), Notting Hill and reaching back a few years, Young at Heart.  Young at Heart features two of my favorite stars; Frank Sinatra and Doris Day.  You know the scenario; boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy gets girl.  It's and old plot line but it still works today.  I am a sucker for romance and I like happy endings.

If the story involves lost love whether it be through death, divorce, breakup, rejection, geography or any other means my heart breaks as much as the characters in the film  These films are known as tear jerkers.  I do like a good cry once in a while but I don't watch those movies as much.  I can usually find enough things to cry about on my own.  An Affair to Remember is a perfect example of this genre.

Finally there are the movies so painful to watch I do not ever want to see them again.  Topping that list is Sophie's Choice.  I saw the film in 1982 and although it was a wonderfully-acted, well-written movie it was torturous to watch and I swore I would never see it again.  I never have.  Others include My Foolish Heart, Love Story, Summer of '42, My Girl, Titanic and Nights in Rodanthe. 

A friend suggested Nights in Rodanthe.  Since I am a Richard Gere and Diane Lane fan I ordered the DVD from Amazon.  My partner had passed away the year before so when my friend asked how I liked the movie, I said, "The guy dies."  She said she hadn't thought about that.

I had decided I wouldn't see Titanic just from watching the ads on television.  When a friend who had seen the movie described a couple of scenes to me, tears ran down my cheeks.  I have only seen bits and pieces of Titanic on TV.  I also shed tears over a description of My Girl.  I have seen that film on TV and love it until the bees attack.

I saw the Help last week.  I wasn't planning to include it with the rest of my chick flicks; I just wanted to mention how great it is.  The term chick flick often implies a lack of quality.  But the more I thought about it, the Help is the best kind of chick flick.  It shows the strength women have; both individually and collectively.  It made me proud to be a woman and yet I am humbled by the bravery and tenacious attitudes exhibited by women who had been groomed for a life of submission.  These women who were treated as non persons by their employers were expected to run the household.  They cooked the meals, cleaned the houses, washed the clothes and essentially raised the children.  I don't know if this movie (book) is based on a true story but it represents a contemptible period in our history.  I am not naive enough to believe that this sort of discrimination no longer occurs but maybe a book and film like this will serve to open our minds and our hearts to the plight of  the disenfranchised.   

Getting stronger

Today was the last day of the Living Strong/Living Well program I joined in May.  We had a farewell gathering and enjoyed finger food.  It was a bittersweet occasion because the group has bonded in many ways.  We reminisced about the first day we met and realized how far we have come.  We are stronger in mind,  body and spirit and damn if we don't all look a lot better, too!  Although the program is over we have agreed to meet informally at the gym, participate in hikes every other Thursday and attend the group meeting on Fridays.  We have also been asked to come in to the first meeting of the new group in September so we can relate the benefits of the program.

I was surprised by the similarity of our experiences.  Many of us were newbies to the whole gym experience.  We find we are now comfortable with the coed aspect and are not intimidated by the younger, thinner members.  It has become a comfortable place.  The staff is friendly and helpful and we could not have asked for a better instructor.  She is the best and I'm glad we will continue to see her there.

Personally I am in much better shape.  I have not lost much weight because my eating was out of control for the first weeks but I am stronger and have less pain in my joints and muscles.  The hikes are testament to my improved stamina.

I am joining the Y and making a commitment to continue the path to better health.  It will be a struggle at times to get on the road and travel the 20 plus miles to the gym but the rewards are worth the effort.  I hope I can remember that when the weather turns cold and rainy.  At those times I will have the support of my group.  I can email someone and ask for encouragement.  I believe continuing with the group will keep me motivated.  We have a common goal and an understanding of how important it is for us to keep striving for more strength, more stamina and ultimately a better quality of life.  

Moving Forward

I bought a marker for Fifty’s grave.  It is a flat stone with two paw prints on it and the inscription, “If love could have saved you, you would have lived forever.”  I placed the stone on his grave and put a flower in the ground next to it.  I miss him.  As I mentioned before, he was quite a demanding little character and now the house is so silent.  I feel him close to me but I am surprised at how well I am coping with his absence.  When my cat Elliott died, I cried for weeks.  I would cry all the way home from work every day.  One day when I came in the house, my son noticed I had been crying and asked, “Again?”

I said, “Still.”

I missed the hike on Thursday with my Living Strong group and on Saturday with the weight loss challenge group.  I went to my weight loss challenge meeting on Sunday and weighed in.  My weight stayed the same but that is a victory because my eating was out of whack for most of last week.  I went to the Y on Monday and Wednesday for my workouts.  Today was the weight loss challenge hike at Almaden Quicksilver Park. 

I met up with the group and leaders.  I was assured there were two options for hiking and I could choose the less rigorous route.  We started off at a place where there was a billboard with maps and information about the park.  My eyes zoomed in on three words on the sign; mountain lions and ticks.  Okay, I am already way out of my comfort zone.  I am shy and meeting a lot of new people, I don’t really like to exercise and I am on a hike.  Now I have to deal with the fact that I may be killed by a mountain lion or bitten by a tick.  I am aware that one should not run from a mountain lion but since I am more than likely the oldest, heaviest and most out of shape hiker in the group the others have a rare opportunity.  They can easily run away while the mountain lion has me for breakfast.  You’ve all heard the phrase, survival of the fittest.

I trudge on and quickly find the terrain arduous.  There are loose rocks and large stones protruding from the ground.  I feel like I have to watch my every step.  I am walking with a leader who assures me we’ll take it as easily as I need to.  Before long, I am falling behind.  She, engaged in conversation with another hiker does not seem to notice.  A couple of others catch up to me and tell me they will walk slowly with me.  The trail begins to incline as I lumber along breathing heavily.  Soon it is an effort to take small steps.  As I look ahead I know I cannot make it up the first hill.  A hiker who is not part of our group comes from behind and leans close to me, “You can do it” she says encouragingly.  “And when you get to the top, you will feel so proud of yourself.  Only the fact that I know she is trying to be kind and supportive stops me stops me from telling her to……..well, you can guess.

I decide I cannot continue and one of the leaders guides me back to the entrance.  She urges me not to feel bad.  I don’t.  I know my limitations.  I am not a quitter but I know when I am in over my head.  I stop at the grocery store and buy fruit, vegetables, yogurt, cottage cheese and other nutritious foods.  I will do what is in my power to improve my health.  Baby steps, always baby steps.   

Goodbye friend

A dark cloud hangs over Catnip Cottage today.  I had to let my cat Fifty-fifty go.  He was sixteen and though he had been slowing down for a while still seemed in pretty good health.  This past week he began failing so I took him to the vet.  I feared I would not bring him home alive.  The doctor called this morning to inform me that there was little that could be done for him that would be more than just prolonging his suffering.  I spent time with him, telling him I loved him and what a great friend he had been to me.  He was alert which made it harder but I was glad he knew I was there and could hear my voice.

I wrote the following piece for an online writing class I took a couple of months ago.  I think it serves as a fitting tribute to my buddy:

My Pal Fifty

In October of 1995 I found a long-haired orange and white cat on my doorstep.   I scorned my son Jordan’s attempts to befriend the cat, saying, “Don’t feed it, talk to it or let it in the house.”  Jordan said I was mean but we already had three cats.  After two or three days passed with the tenacious creature holding his ground, I relented and the furry intruder was fed, watered and allowed to come into the house.  Once I let myself get close to the newcomer, I noticed the deep wound on his head.  Deciding the injury needed medical attention I made an appointment with the vet.

The stranger needed a name.  I usually christened my pets with human names but because of his coloring I decided to name this cat Fifty-fifty.  His orange and white coat reminded me of the vanilla and orange-covered ice cream bars I ate as a child.  Over time the determined cat that would not leave our yard came to be called Fifty.  I was once asked if he was named after the rapper 50 cent.  “Of course I’ve heard of him” I said, “but come on I’m 63 years old and not that hip.” 

The next day after treating Fifty-fifty’s injury, Doctor Fisher asked if I would like to have him neutered.  I agreed and Fifty-fifty spent the night.  The next day I told my friend Pauline with whom I commuted to work, about the cat’s visit to the vet and the procedure he was having.  She looked at me eyes wide open and said, “But he’s not your cat!” 

I said, “I guess he is now.” 

She asked, “What if he is a prize breeding cat?” 

I said, “He’s not anymore.” 

We laughed all the way to work.

Fifty happily adjusted to his new home despite the hostile reactions of the felines in residence.  Elliott, a white short-haired male and head honcho tolerated Fifty but nothing more while Gidget, a blue-eyed Siamese cross showed her disdain swatting Fifty across the face each time he crossed her path.   Fifty never got the drift.  Johnny a black short-haired male named after the lead character in Dirty Dancing, kept his distance from Elliott and Gidget who treated the sweet-natured cat as their whipping boy.    

Fifty kept us entertained with his playful antics.  He skidded from one end of the house and back again as if being chased by a rabid dog.  He tossed his toy mouse into the air then bit it ferociously.  Fifty has slowed down and spends most of his time sleeping but once in a while speeds through the house chased by that invisible assailant.  Fifty loves when we pet him.  If you lay your hand on his head he will rub back and forth against it.  Jordan says, “You just put your hand by his head and he does all the work.”         

Fifty is my constant companion; sometimes against my will.  I can’t walk into the kitchen without hearing the pitter patter of his paws behind me.  He’s always hungry.  He eats several times a day then wakes me for his midnight snack.  I call him bugateer, pain in the butt and say that if you look up the word pest in the dictionary you’ll find his picture there.  He is also the devoted friend who laid by my side throughout the eight months I was ill last year.  His first interest is always his own comfort but I don’t mind coming in second.   

    

Changes

In May I started a strength and fitness program created for cancer patients and survivors that was recommended to me by my oncologist.  I hoped it would help with the painful joints, fatigue and lack of stamina which are side effects from my treatment for ovarian cancer.  I have never been a physically active person.  I was in good health but I can’t say I was ever physically fit.  I have been overweight most of my life and am not sure whether that fact contributed to or was a result of my lack of physical activity.  The answer is probably both. 

It has been two months now and I am beginning to recognize changes.  I haven’t lost much weight which isn’t the goal of the program but is always mine.  I work out on seven machines and try to spend 30 minutes on the treadmill.  As I spend more time on the machines it has been difficult to complete 30 minutes on the treadmill.  Last Wednesday I left the house early so I would have the time I needed to get in all the exercises and 30 minutes on the treadmill.  I travel 26 miles to the Y where the program takes place and halfway there I said to myself, “I am going to the gym early so I can spend more time on the treadmill?”  That was (as Oprah would say) a light bulb moment.

A couple of weeks ago the instructor mentioned that we would be going on an hour-long hike.  The group appeared to be pleased but I’m sure if there was a snapshot of my face in that moment it would show a look of stark fear.  I felt my fight or flight response kicking in and flight was in the lead.  She reassured us that we would do only what we were able to do and that we could choose to travel the hilly or flat terrain.  If my group was willing so was I.

In the meantime I heard about a ten-week Weight Loss Challenge at the Y that was taught by our same instructor.  I was interested but visions of The Biggest Loser filled my brain.  I watched the premier episode one season where extremely overweight people had to ride an exercise bike for 26 miles that first night.  I was shocked.  I talked to the instructor about it and she reassured me it was not like the TV show.  I asked if she thought I was up for it and she said of course.  I thought about it for a couple of days and then decided I should do it.

The Weight Loss Challenge consists of a weekly meeting a la Weight Watchers and daily exercise.  Every Saturday there is an hour-long hike with two instructors.  I asked, “You expect me to hike twice a week?”  She matter-of-factly answered, “Yes!”  So on Saturday I went on my virgin hike.  There were a few other women, younger and thinner who forged ahead of me.  As we started to go up a hill (ok a little incline) I said, “I don’t think I can do this.”  So my instructor veered me off to the flat terrain.  I was still secretly thinking I couldn’t do it but we started talking.  I begin to tell her about the last five years of my life which I believe could be turned into a Lifetime movie.  As I related intimate details of betrayal, painful reconciliations, more betrayal, long-kept secrets revealed and finally death, I told her I must not be getting the oxygen my brain needs to edit myself.

Before I knew it we had finished the hike.  She asked how I felt.  I felt okay.  I was tired, sore and sweaty but I had accomplished something I wouldn’t even have attempted prior to being in this program.  The program is called Living Strong/Living Well.  The program is not over yet but I think I am already living up the name.

Years ago I wanted to give my house a name and since I had several cats, Catnip Cottage seemed appropriate.  I even planned to paint a sign but procrastination reared its ugly head and now many years later my house remains unchristened.  I must remember to put that on my ever-increasing to do list. 

I keep several lists.  One is for things that need to be done right away such as shopping for groceries and personal or cleaning products.  Another may be a reminder to make appointments for a dental exam, mammogram, cervical exam or the dreaded colonoscopy.  I think I make this list just so I can put off making the appointments.  If it’s on the list it makes me feel like I can wait to do it.  Come to think of it isn’t that what most lists are for?  If you just take care of the issue when it comes up, there’s no need to write it down. 

I even started a bucket list.  After last year, I felt a certain amount of urgency to do things that were previously in the “someday” category.  The odds of beating ovarian cancer are not the greatest and even though I am in remission right now, I can’t really be sure how much time I have left.  I know what you’re thinking.  Nobody knows; you could get hit by a bus tomorrow.  That’s true enough.  The difference is I feel like my bus may be parked around the corner.

I don’t mean to sound morbid; I am dealing with cold hard statistics.  I had to accept the information and figure out how to go forward without letting it overwhelm me.  It’s all about living in the present.  The tired cliché about taking it one day at a time holds the truth about living a happier more centered life.  I spent too much time regretting the past and worrying about the future.  I expected so much from the future; more money, more love, more time.  I didn’t know cancer was looming there.

But believe it or not, cancer is not all bad.  Early on I told my surgeon that along with the disease I had received gifts.  First of all I found clarity.  I learned quickly what I value most in life is family, friends and the time to enjoy them.  I learned how much I am loved and how many people were willing to stand by me for however long it took me to beat this disease.  I learned not to judge the people who found it difficult to see me or even talk to me on the phone.  It’s not easy to watch as someone you care about suffers.  People told me I was brave.  I have to admit I was a little surprised with the amount of inner strength and determination I was able to summon which helped me persevere through the rigorous treatment.   I don’t think I was brave.  Like so many other victims of this disease, I had no other choice; I wanted to live.   I had to face each day, each procedure, and each humiliation in order to get well.  I wanted to live more than anything I have ever wanted in my life.

Finally, there are times when life seems so bad you have to laugh.  I joked about losing my dignity.  I feel like most of my family and friends have seen my posterior.  I once walked down the hospital hallway with my gown pulled up in front by the wires from a heart monitor and the back barely covering my tush.  I didn’t care.  A nurse came and pulled my gown together as she walked beside me.  She urged me to go back to my room so she could put another gown to cover my backside.  I told her I wanted to keep walking.  Another nurse glanced toward my bare legs; I told her I was starting a new style.  One morning as a young aid gave me a sponge bath she asked me to spread my legs.  I hadn’t felt so exposed since I was in labor thirty years before.  I won’t even get into all the indignities surrounding bathroom mishaps.   My weight which had been one of my most closely guarded secrets was now common knowledge.  Okay so I may not have laughed when these things happened but I did while recounting them.