I am better

I am still immature, but I am better. 

I am also still a dope.

Harper Collins, you suck

I am up at 1:30 a.m. because my phone clanged whilst I was reading a library book.  It was an e-mail from that publisher letting me know that the book I ordered, pre-ordered and pre-paid in the first fresh days of February will not be sent to me. 

They are out of stock.  The book is back ordered.

I call baloney.

I ordered that book on the very day they released their press release.  They were more than happy to accept my order and my credit card information, as well as charge a premium price for quick delivery.

Now, on the day of publication, the book is not available.

Seriously?

You are the publisher. 

You know exactly how many copies of the book were pre-ordered.

You have known, at least since the day of your press release, how many copies you needed to print.

You are a famous and successful publisher and were well aware of how popular and eagerly awaited this title was going to be.

I sent a message via your Customer Service option to cancel my order.

I am not a snippy person, nor am I unaware of the issue regarding publication of books.  I worked in a bookstore for twenty years.  I know this stuff.

I am not a weirdly flighty person, subject to fits of immature disappointment, and, frankly, I am a bit surprised myself how disappointed I am to have received your e-mail notice.  But, I am.  Disappointed. 

Sufficiently dispirited to cancel my order and wait until I find a copy in a bookstore or at my library.  I just put the title on my reserve list, and will be waiting for quite a while, which is fine.

I will recover from this truly petty response and will be fine by morning, but I am still cancelling my order.

I am such a baby.  I wish I could be more ashamed about this pettifogging and surprising and...did I mention ridiculous...aspect of myself.  All right, I am a little ashamed, but I cancelled my order and I am stickin' to it.

Lordy.

I have had worse things than cancer in my life

That other life had its moments.  Times of happiness and joy, pleasure, fun and the birth of our daughter.  As hard as I try, I cannot figure out if there were more good and decent times than not.  I truly cannot let memories flow in a way that can help me decide if there was more pleasure than pain.

I believe that many people face the same challenge, and it is a challenge to remember and honor the times of suffering, fear and pain without not giving the same credit to all of the great stuff, because it is likely that the great moments were/are part of how we survived, no matter how that survival is for us.

I have survived well.  Mostly because I am alive.  I am not dead.  I can hardly stress that sufficiently...I am not dead.  No one killed me.  I did not kill myself.  I sometimes think that either was just as likely to happen.  I used to self-harm, but only dreamed of having the courage to end it all myself.  I had a plan and a back-up plan.  Probably only one plan is needed, but I did have two because you just never know when circumstances will mess with your plans.

I lived on the threshold of making an inadvertent mistake or not being able to translate the signals being beamed my way, and whilst the consequences were unpleasant (enough said about that) they came with the sharing that things could always be worse for me and that included dying.  I believe that I came close a couple of times, but something held his actions, probably fear of facing his own consequences for acting on his anger and pure hatred for me.

The day I left had been preceded by months of escalating abuse.  I never called it back then, never came close to understanding that what was happening to me was abusive.  I always believed that if I could just find a way to follow the rules, anticipate mistakes or missteps, that I would be fine.  Or, at least not have to face the bad stuff.  I really do not want to rehash all of that stuff, but it bears mentioning here because I did survive.  I paid attention to what was said.  I paid attention to body language and I most carefully paid attention to the flow of what was happening.

But, I made it out that day.  And, that is another story, parts of which I have shared previously.

So, anyway, worse things aside, three weeks ago I had a regular visit with my internist and when she asked me a question, it reminded me that I had been having irregular spotting, something, it turns out, who knew, that women of a certain dotage and nearing their seventh decade are not supposed to have.

I mean really, who knew.  Within days I was having an ultrasound.  Not all that pleasant, but, well, you know.  Within a few more days I was having biopsies snipped, pulled and unceremoniously yanked from my nether regions.  You know.

Within a few more days I was having all of the pre-surgery testing done and an EKG had some "squiggles, but I do not want you to worry about them, but I think it would be a good idea to get a cardiac stress test before your surgery next week."

O.K.  By the time of the pre-surgery testing, the biopsy results were back and it was not looking all that wonderful. 

The sun was not shining, the birds not singing, and the unicorns were not eating butterflies and pooping rainbows. 

Two weeks after that first accidental memory and comment, I had the big gun surgery.  Aside from panicking about being sedated (a certain kind of flashback about not having control of my body), I welcomed all the sedation meds they had and came through just fine.  No actual panic attacks.  No physically defending myself whilst going under or coming back out of that unconsciousness.

I had not embarrassed myself.  No one learned what an emotional mess I am and mostly I did not embarrass myself.  I cannot properly express how grateful I am for that.  Even now, a week later, I have a startle moment and have to breathe a bit to relax away from that whole humiliation possibility.
There was a moment just before I succumbed to the anesthesia when they strapped my arms to these crazy shelf things on both sides of the operating table when I thought that I was going to completely come apart.  But, I kept on breathing, had been meditating my ass off since before I left for the hospital, became a bit more sedated and went off-line, so to speak, and did not freak.

I learned that once in there, a whole ecosystem of weird stuff was found that never showed up on the ultrasound.  Polyps were harvested, fibroids left alone (except for more tissue samples), the tiny assortment of cysts will be watched from now on and the pathology reports were back in thirty-six hours and no cancer was found.  None. 

The surgeon and my internist both expressed their concern about how I did not seem worried about the rush of procedures and tests and more tests.  And, whilst it seemed weird to share with them, I do not worry about much any more, here in my now new life.

I am free and alive and the things that worried me are no longer a part of my life.  So, I mean, what is the point?  Worrying never solved or helped anything.  Nothing.  Not a single thing.  I always mess up this quote, but it is something about worry being the payments on a debt you do not even have yet.  Something like that.

Anyway, I do not worry.  Truthfully, whatever happens will just happen and there is not a thing that I could have done about any of that two weeks of health care.

I was in good hands, with people I trust and since I am not a doctor and they are doctors who do this sort of doctor stuff all the time, I mean, even if I tried to think of something to fret about I am sure that I would not have been able to excavate a single thing.

If I had cancer then I would have figured out what I was going to do next.  If, as it turns out, I did not have cancer then I would have wasted valuable time that could have been spent on napping, chocolate (I am totally serious about the chocolate) and reading and spending time with the boys or just doing nothing.

I have come to realize that transitioning to my now new life that I have already made some significant changes to how I live, how I want to live and all that jazz.  If cancer were to be a part of my life, the only thing that I would do differently would be to have more fun now, rather than plan and parse out stuff the way I have been doing.  But, really, no significant changes to any part of my life.

And, most interestingly, not having cancer has moved me to that one different thing, which is to not miss a single moment of fun experiences.  Also, I had to dip into the money I got from my ex in order to pay for a truly stunning and breathtaking amount of medical expenses, and I have decided that I am going to use more of that money instead of being unsuitably frugal.  I am not going to be a crazy person or anything, but I am going to have more experiences with my daughter and all the boys.

On the day between the cardiac stress test (I got the nuclear one) and my big surgery I went to the little gym down the street and signed up for a membership.  I still have to wait until I stop bleeding/spotting before I go and exercise there, but hopefully that will be only another week or so.

Oh, when I saw my internist on Monday to follow up on the surgery and all of the test results, the changes I have made in my diet and activities over the past three months resulted in a freaky improvement in all the stuff that the tests were for.  I now have a decrease in two of my regular meds.

One more thing is that the cardiac stress test showed that I have a brilliant and strong heart, but I do have coronary heart disease.  I am certain as I am of anything that that little issue is mostly due to the stresses from that other life.  And, I am doing so well that the only change I have to make in my meds is to keep taking massive doses of vitamin D and B and a little orange-flavored aspirin every day.  Which I will do as soon as I remember to take it. 

Change does not come easy to me.

I am blessed with this now new life, I am doing good work, feel healthier than I have in, gosh, probably fifteen years and whatever comes my way, much worse things have happened to me. 

nuttin' honey

I am not feeling well enough to write about all of the stuff that is making me feel not well, but I did go on-line to look for books to borrow from the library.  I cannot do much, but I can certainly find the energy to sit and read.

I learned something about myself from the book search, though.  Even though my daughter told my grandsons that I read a lot and do not really do much else...a whole other thing...lordy...I learned that even I cannot borrow and read a book in which one of the characters is named Sir Goldenloin.

Kind of grateful for that.  Just saying.

yesterday

From not writing anything, anywhere for a long time, something happened yesterday that spoke to me fully transcending the whole thing about things speaking to us.

There was a riot in Baltimore, MD/US related to yet another young black man dying in police custody.  The arena of young black men being in much too close proximity to negative contact with authorities is one that is nearly ageless in this country.  Minorities suffer all over the world.  The privileged lording it over the less privileged, who then rise to do the same to whomever is more recently on the low spot.

Anyway, whilst going to a mall to pick up her son, a mother saw that same son on the news, lower face masked, participating in the riot.  When she arrived there she found him and began berating him, including grabbing him, giving him slaps against his upper body and forcing him away from the center of the riot. 

Because nearly everyone has great media in their hand or pocket, those smart phones are out and recording the action, and this mother and son encounter was captured and shared and found its way to the news. 

There has been universal praise for this mother for taking charge and what is truly, in effect, proactive behavior to educate, instruct and remind him of how he was raised and exactly what she expects of him.  The final shot of the two of them is him looking back at her with a look on his face that is the perfect expression of his burgeoning understanding of what was important and what was likely to happen after the cameras moved on to other things.

I have been that kind of mother.  My daughter never participated in actions that lacked support for others, much less riots.  But, all of that is another story, several stories.

It is just that what happened snapped me out of my funk last night.  That, and needing to find out more about a person that I have been seeing on a cam.  You know, those traffic cams that monitor every single, blessed moment of our lives.  At least in public, and I am not so sure about how secure we are in our homes in large urban areas.  That technology is some pretty serious stuff.

Whatever.  This morning I decided to try to find the exact place where I see this person on a particular cam.  I never expected to find the exact place or even the general area, but I did.  I even found him on a shot on Google maps or live or street view or whatever it is called.

I immediately felt scared and ashamed.  There truly is not any any privacy for any of us, because this technology is everywhere.

I felt both violating of his privacy and violated myself.  This happened an hour ago and my own shame increases.  But, the honest truth is that I will keep watching this particular cam because it makes me feel good to see him most days, sitting in his usual space and enjoying the weather and interacting with other people and feeding the birds and everything else.  It really makes me feel good, that part does.  Being able to find the place where I first encountered him and finding him on that image, taken who know how long ago, is totally weirding me out and only the next few days will tell whether or not I continue to watch this particular cam.

The other cams I watch are scenic, with no possibility of identifying any location or person.  They are all public spaces, as is the one in which I see that man,  and whilst I do not like the whole concept, I do understand the official need to have eyes on the scene.  It is the nature of our world now that there are plenty of people ready and willing, and perhaps waiting or planning to be dastardly to public treasures, which includes people.

As evidenced by the coverage of the doings in Baltimore this week, although that came to my more personal attention because of the smart phone images.

Maybe it is my own, health-fueled, isolation, but I really love watching natural scenes that I will never have a chance to visit.  I will never travel to Hawaii or Eastern Europe or the tropics or anyplace that is more than a hundred miles from where I live.  Yet, I can go there and sit at my computer and relax to the ocean waves breaking against a shore, in all parts of the world. 

I can watch wild animals eating, visiting water holes, playing and living their lives.  I do, however, hope that I never have to see the entire circle of life played out.  Not that I am afraid of it, but it is not my favorite thing right now.

I like looking a landscapes where not much happens, or long views of cityscapes.  I like seeing how differently they look from day to night and in-between.  The seasons are still to come because I only recently discovered these things.

And, the truth is that I find myself caring about that man and when he did not show up for a few days I worried about him.  And, it is not that I am avoiding my own life.  I am working my ass off to building this now new life and bulldozing (if necessary) my way through the rough spots.  I am moving out in directions I never conceived.  Ever.  So, there.

There is not any real point to any of this.  Except that, maybe, I can care about the world and all that jazz.  And, maybe, I can care about one person who I will never meet, even though I found him by being a voyeur.  Lordy.

This is full of spelling mistakes, so ignore them.  Now I have to go shower so that I can visit the mammowagon to get squished.  I might treat myself to dinner out.  An early mom's day gift to myself.

pain

Tonight I was supposed...self imposed...to write a letter to my pain.  However, it had other ideas and wanted, insisted on writing to me.  A letter.  More of a manifesto.  I am not having any of it.

surfacing

trying harder

here.  really am.

earth

day

Glorious Earth Day, here again. 

I cannot think of much progress anyone had made in saving our planet lately, but Earth Day is still a nice idea.

I cannot think of anything to write about.  Still recovering and feeling like tired and crappy, but like today enough to make an effort.

Happiness to all of my friends on this beautiful blue marble.