You just never know

I'm just home from a local farmer's market where I met up with my new friend. She sells home-baked pastries and original artwork from a table she has set up at the market. Ron came along too and met her for the first time.

Funny thing is, this is only the second time I've been in her company. The editor for the Westford Eagle asked me to do a column on Gail a month ago. Gail and I exchanged a couple of quick emails and I was to meet her at her home to do the interview while she baked for the farmer's market.

The day I was to interview her was the day after my mom went into the hospital in great pain. This is when the cancer journey started for us and I had to be at the hospital when the interview was to have taken place. I informed my editor and she found a replacement.

I emailed Gail and told her I was sorry that I had to bail on her but that someone would cover for me. From there, this email friendship grew quickly. She was supportive and kind. She was also funny and shared my love for Julia Child's chocolate mousse. She suggested we meet for tea.

Two weeks ago we did meet. Gail had sent me a picture of herself so I'd recognize her. She confessed that her son asked her what she was doing meeting a complete stranger for tea and how did she know this would "work"? Gail responded, "She's a people person. I can tell. It will be fine."

And so it was. We spent 2 1/2 hours (which seemed like about 5 minutes) chatting over tea and coffee at a local coffee house. It was like we'd been friends forever.

These moments have happened in my life fairly frequently and I am always amazed at how two complete strangers can connect in such a short amount of time. And sometimes the bonding happens over email or telephone.

It really makes me want to kiss the sun that shines on me. It's one of the things I love most about life. You just never know where your next friend is coming from. People who fill your heart with joy, and respect your thoughts are always just around the corner.

I think the key is to be open to it. To not be afraid to share some of your spirit with a stranger. To let your guard down a bit and feel comfortable enough in who you are that people will like you when you are yourself.

The gift of connecting with another human being whose random presence sparks your own happiness is proof to me that the world is always turning towards hope.

Right-hand people

Me, mom, and our Thanksgiving teamwork in 2006

I kept waiting for things to "settle down" before I wrote this post. But, another lesson in life: Every moment is an opportunity for change.

Mom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer a couple of weeks ago during surgery. She is now facing chemo with hopes that she can get one more year with us. We'll see how she does with chemo and then she can decide.

She's been her usual amazing self through all of this. Realistic but still positive. Enjoying each day she has like it's her last. But she's always lived that way.

Through all of this anxiety and worry and grief, I've discovered many things about myself. First and foremost, that I can be there for my folks when I need to be. It's not pretty and I need to rest when I can, but I can do it. Whew.

I am the oldest daughter in my family. I have an older brother, Joe, and a much younger sister, Lisa. When I was about 9 years old, I gave up going out on Halloween. I found it to be a bother. Trying to walk in the dark with a mask on and not trip on curbs was a hassle. Though I love(d) candy, it wasn't worth the aggravation. I wanted to be home - with my mother - handing out candy to the younger kids. So, my brother continued to do trick-or-treating, and I stayed home.

It was around this time that my sister was born. I had always prayed for a sister and, when she arrived, I devoted myself to her. I did it, not just for me, but for my mom. I was her helper. Taking Lisa for walks, helping with diapers (this was pre-Pampers), feeding her, and keeping her occupied.

Whenever my mom was going through a tough time, like when she lost her mother and then her father (after an 8-month nightmare in a Boston hospital), I stepped up. Barely a teenager myself, I would take over making meals for the family, clean the house, and take care of Lisa - without ever being asked.

The look of relief on my mother's face and the complete trust she had in me were my only and greatest rewards. Nothing's changed since then.

Joe and Lisa love mom as much as I do. They support, help, and care for her every day - even if they can't be there for doctor's appointments and hospital emergencies. We are a team and I'm proud of how we've come together to support our folks and each other.

This is a heartbreaking, stressful time in my life yet I feel some sense of relief that mom and I spent our time together building this relationship of mutual trust. She calls me her "right-hand man" and always has.


When I lie awake at night, thinking about how my life experiences have led me to this moment in time, I'm seeing how my 51-year relationship with my mom has prepared me. And I find myself wondering if the universe always had a master plan.

When the time comes for me to say goodbye to her, I will know that I have always done everything I could for her. There will be no regrets.

Hands and hearts

I just finished packing. I'm not going very far away but will be spending a ton of time in the OR family waiting room tomorrow morning as my mom undergoes surgery for cancer. It's been a crazy couple of weeks. Mom came home and has been feeling better since the stent was implanted. All that and more comes out tomorrow as the surgeons perform what they are calling a radical approach to the cancer.

Original biopsy results that were expected to confirm colon cancer came back inconclusive, we found out at the pre-op appointments on Monday. There is now a possibility that it could be pancreatic cancer that moved to the colon. So, that's incredibly scary.

Mom is her usual strong, positive self. The family is worried but we are all keeping our spirits up and hers too.

When I was packing my "busy bag" to bring to the hospital tomorrow I grabbed my current book and my journal.

But I had this nagging thought that the written word would not be enough to keep me calm and distracted. That's when I grabbed my quilting bag. I haven't quilted in a while. I've made several quilts (sewn and quilted all by hand) and had started one in February. I haven't done much on it since my writing seems to have taken over my spare time.

Most quilters I know think those of us who do all of the work by hand are insane or incredibly patient. Maybe we are a little bit of both. When anyone asks me why I do all this by hand (the full-sized quilt I made to the left took me 1 year and 9 months to complete, and then I gave it away!), I tell them that there is a certain peace that comes with doing handwork. It's becoming a lost art. With the exception of our cellphones and keyboards/mouse, we do very little with our hands these days.

I find that piecing and then quilting by hand to create a quilt is one of the most personal things I do. And also the most contemplative. When I have the needle and thread in one hand, and the fabric in the other, my blood pressure immediately drops. My mind loses all the crazy junk that runs around in it all day. And all I think about is "Put the needle in; pull the needle out." I call it Zen Quilting.

And that's just what the doctor (me) ordered for (me) tomorrow. Since I have no control over the outcome of the surgery or the full biopsy, I can at least feel that I have control over something. As I sew the pieces together tomorrow I will reflect on how lucky I am. Lucky that I have a mother that I love so much, lucky that I can be there for her and my dad, and lucky that I have hands to do the needlework. Hands that my mother and father gave me. I will use them well.

Shoulders, parents, and timing

Taking a few moments to update the blog with the latest. Normally I write more introspective pieces but this is mostly news.

About two hours after a PT appointment last week, I got a call from my dad that he was at the hospital with my mom. She was very sick and was being admitted. I raced over there and stayed very late into the night.

Long story short, she was diagnosed with colon cancer. The day after she was admitted, I picked up my dad and we spent another long day at the hospital while the docs confirmed the diagnosis and inserted a stent. She is home for a couple of weeks while her colon settles down and then will go back in for surgery to remove the cancer.

The surgeons have been wonderful. She is getting great care. They feel the cancer is contained and surgery will cure this.

At almost-80, this is a lot on her but my dad is of even greater concern. He is exhausted and stressed beyond belief. They've been married for 57 years and are very close.

One of my first thoughts as I was driving home that first night at 11:15pm, was that I was SO glad I didn't opt for surgery on my shoulder. If I had, I would not have been able to be there for them.

My sister lives up in Maine and can't be there in a flash like me. She is so great about making calls, and coming down to help. It's a huge relief for me. But I'm the go-to person for my folks and, although it's exhausting and stressful, I am honored that they trust me with their care.

The shoulder is getting stronger with the PT. I feel that, if I continue with four more sessions and my home exercises, I will be okay for a while. The CFS, well, that's never going to get better and I have to rest in between each crisis.

But as long as I am available to help them, it is actually easier on me. I can take an Advil for the shoulder if needed, but I can't give them a pill to help them when they need me.

Caretaker wear and tear

I went for my first appointment for physical therapy yesterday. I blew out my shoulder last October from a fall. I was attempting to help my ole pal Alex down the front steps as he was recovering from a seizure. He got down the steps just fine; I, however, slipped and fell, hearing an actual "rrrrrrrrip" when I landed on my left shoulder.

Xrays were negative but the pain was quite bad. Did some home therapy, ice, rest, you know the routine. It still bothers me so I went for an MRI a month ago and it revealed a labrum tear along with a misplaced bicep tendon. Great.

Surgery is likely but the surgeon was open to trying PT first to see if I could get some strength back and minimize the pain.

The therapist I've got is a woman who looks to be about my age. In great shape, of course. She asked many questions but one of them got us looking into each others eyes with a great sense of knowing.

When she asked what my goal was for PT, I answered "To avoid surgery for as long as I can. I have too many people and dogs who need me right now."

Without saying a word, she understood. I said, "You know. You're a woman." She smiled and nodded.

When the surgeon told me that surgery was the only way to repair the damage for good, my first thought was not of myself. It was of my elderly dogs. How will I get them in and out of the car for appointments if I can't use both arms? Then I thought of my parents.

I have chronic fatigue syndrome which is at its worst during times of physical and emotional stress. This means my recovery from surgery will likely be more involved and take longer. My folks are at the point in their lives where they sometimes have to rely on their "kids". What if they end up needing me and I can't be there for them?

It's all crazy, I know. Others would help where I couldn't. But most women I know would have the same reaction as me. It's our job (and our purpose in life) to be there for others. We're last in line on our own list of priorities.

I think back to my childhood in trying to understand why I subvert my own care for others. My mom, like most moms of that era, didn't work outside the home. Their jobs were to be mothers. They were the ones who raised the children (dads did what they could on nights and weekends), took care of the family pet, helped neighbors in need, and shuttled elderly relatives to and from doctors appointments. In a nutshell, they handled all the emotional and physical caretaking.

It is that example that still has power over my generation. I don't think it's a bad thing to "suck it up" when someone else has a greater need. I actually view that type of inner strength as a badge of honor. But it has its price. In the PT waiting room was one man - and six women. 

I wonder if those women answered the therapist's questions the same as me. And received a knowing look in return.

Confirmation

I read this article in today's Boston Globe with much interest. It's been my theory that once people establish an opinion, no amount of facts could change it. Or so it seemed to me after spending some amount of time on local blogs having my IQ challenged when I dare interrupt someone's rant with facts.

From the book "A Nation of Victims: The Decay of the American Character", by Charles J. Sykes, comes one of my favorite quotes: "You can't reason someone out of something they didn't reason themselves into."

I use that line often when discussing/arguing things like politics and religion. (I know they're supposed to be taboo subjects but I hate boring conversations as much as I hate the Yankees.)

The article in the Globe makes the point that offering challenging facts to someone who has a pre-set opinion usually gets that person MORE entrenched in their opinion. You would think that it would be the opposite but here's where human nature comes into play.

People don't like to be wrong and they consider an inconsistency of opinion to be a character flaw. R.W. Emerson said: "A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds." When I read that in college, it changed how I argued.

We all hold certain beliefs as a sort of personal truth - and don't confuse "truth" with "fact". One of my truths is that I believe that the death penalty is justified in some instances. I can't imagine anyone ever giving me enough information to change my opinion, and so it stays.  

However, I try to not hold those 'hobgoblins' in my mind and am at least aware of times when I do. Changing an opinion given more information and especially experience is a sign to me that the person is smart and strong. This is what always pains me during political campaigns. That a politician cannot change his mind - ever. Once (s)he says something on the stump, it has to be etched in stone for all time.

I fear that we are a country that is becoming too black and white. And that somehow, personal growth and introspection have become signs of weakness.

Blue moon dog

I love every dog that's come through my house. Foster or otherwise. But anyone who's had dogs knows there are one or two that somehow manage to be more amazing than the rest. And that's the case with my Springer Spaniel, Brittany.

We don't call her Brittany much anymore, in fact, we never really did. She-of-a-thousand-nicknames has always been way too silly to be called such a prissy name. Her names run the gamut from Snuggles to Psycho. Poopyhead to Wigglebottom.

We adopted Brit when she was 2 (or so the vet guessed) and had come into Springer Spaniel Rescue after being hit by a car. Her family didn't want her back and didn't care that she was a) in pain, and b) would likely be euthanized.

Luckily a local vet in CT where she was found did some major surgery pro-bono because she was so special. The ACO that brought her into the vet called Springer Spaniel Rescue who then called us (the recently approved adopters). We were so taken by her personality that her inability to walk after surgery did not scare us away.

Brit was our first dog together. Ron had cats when he was a kid, but never dogs. I had dogs but my mom was always the main caretaker. Adopting Brit - especially given her issues - was a huge leap of faith that has changed my life.

She was a lot of work when we got her. Traumatized both physically and emotionally, we struggled to get her well. She rebounded from her hip surgery quicker than she did from the terrible anxiety that overwhelmed her at times. Even today she doesn't do well with change and seems to still fear, 10 years later, that she will be ditched again.

At heart, she is a fun, silly, happy, affectionate, and intuitive dog. The only "trouble" we've had with her is her love for chasing (and sometimes even catching) little furry creatures outside. An invisible fence kept her contained but two years ago, her hip started to act up again. It was then we found that her knees were an issue also and surgery isn't an option.

Most of her days are spent inside now. A retired racehorse of sorts. We take her on walks when her joint issues aren't too bad. We control the pain with meds and she is on a regimen of holistic treatments to attempt to keep her comfortable and rebuild some strength in her hind quarters.

However, lately some of the positive effects from treatments are being lost and we are faced with the reality that her mobility and pain may result in a life-ending decision. We thought that since our unhealthy Springer Alex made it to 15, surely Brit would too.

It's been hard for me to come to terms with this reality. Brit is my best friend, my constant companion, and "my little girl". Lots of emotions are tied up with her and I'm dreading the day when a decision has to be made. I also wonder if I will be capable of making one since letting go of her will be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

Last night, when she was dawdling with her dinner, I thought it was due mostly to her not being able to stand for long to eat. So I indulged her by sitting with her and feeding her by hand until she was tempted to start eating on her own again.

As always, she was as interested in me as anything else in front of her. She'd take one bite of food for herself, then lick my face. Another bite, then lick my fingers holding the bowl. She seemed to figure out early on that I love her as much as she loves me. And that will never change between us.

I've decided that I will continue to let her know just how much she means to me until I have to let her go. Don't say dogs aren't tuned in to how you feel. They know you better than you know yourself because they're not fooled by the words that come out of your mouth.

They read your heart and judge you by your actions. At least my Brit does.