I have absolutely no idea where the blog I wrote on Monday went. I'm assuming it's in outer space or something. Needless to say, I'm new at this and my kids - experts on any and all types of emailing, IM'ing, Face Book, My Space, etc., are at school.
Monday was not the best day. Besides trying to re-enter life after my idyllic week at the Bishop's Ranch, I discovered that I'd somehow scheduled my annual mammogram AND GYN appointment for the same day. Holy Moly. Tuesday was a huge shop-o-rama at Costco, given that the college kids are filtering back home (at least my son could carry all the guano up the stairs from the garage to the kitchen). Yesterday I also had two appointments and today, blessedly, nothing. I am determined to type up my writings from Nightwriters and write something new this afternoon.
Steve, I am sorry about your father. It sounds like you have a realistic view about his condition, which reminded me of a story. I began seeing a acupuncturist last year after I got 'frozen shoulder' following a severe dislocation/fracture of my left shoulder I received while skiing. Her name is: Raimin Liu, pronounced, "Ree-mee Loo." She is originally from Shanghai, where her parents and extended family live. Somehow we got on the subject of death and were comparing how the Chinese and American cultures deal with it. This is the story: One morning her grandfather came to breakfast and told the family that he'd dreamed about 'mother'. Everyone thought he was talking about his recently deceased wife. When questioned further, he said he meant his mother. The family knew, right there and then, that he would die soon. Chinese believe that when you have dreams like that, it means you will die. So they went out and bought him a brand new suit and had his hair cut. His death was something they were looking forward to - it meant he was simply going to a different place. It was nothing to be sad about. I marveled at the differences between their culture and ours.
It's supposed to be 94 today, so I'm getting ready to fire up the A/C already. UGH!! Gus and Emmy both have lacrosse games this afternoon and it'll be a scorcher. I miss you all and hope you're doing well. Take good care. Love, Diane
2 comments:
Thanks so much for your sweet comments. I'm trying to be enlightened about this, but it is especially hard to STAY focused. Cancer treatments take on a life of their own -- a busy, hurried, questioning, unsure life which has nothing to do with serene acceptance. Radiation technicians, pharmacists, and oncology nurses don't typically sit patients and their families down to a meditative breathwork session in which all are encouraged to simply let go. That task is ours, mine . . . so I intend to remind myself do lots of deep breathing.
Dear Steve,
In the past two years, I spent 15 months in the oncology section of our hospital: my best friend's 7 year-old had rhabdomyosarcoma and another friend's mother was diagnosed with brain cancer right before Thanksgiving. You are so right about the oncology staff. They are knowledgeable, skillful, busy, but not very sympathetic. Only the Chaplain or minister provides that necessary function. Therefore, you often feel like you do whenever you are flying these days: powerless, impotent, in the way. I learned how to screen out all the interruptions, even moving from the floor to radiation or to chemo and back to bed. I would just try to stay focused on my friends and their son and mother. Really working on 'being in the moment' and not getting agitated at all the noise and cold efficiency. Holding hands seemed to help the most. My heart is with you. Love, Diane
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