Month: May 2006 (Page 3 of 3)

When I was back home, I took some pictures of the landscape: junctures of grass & field, trees and streams, so permanently etched in the memory of my mind, and yet changed through time to be unidentical to those etchings…. yet everything was still similar enough to bask in the warm familiarity of it all.

This dam was not here, back when I was 7, so the water grew shallow by the crossing, and though it was only ankle-to-shin deep, the water moved quickly, over the rocks and down to the juncture with the other trout stream. On the fateful day I reference, my parents were working in a large communal garden, a garden that would later prove to be one of many examples of why communal living doesn’t work very well. My father was on a tractor, my mother in earshot of me. I was having a GRAND time, playing with my Fisher Price yacht, complete with a Captain, life preservers, a lifeboat, and passengers. I still remember the little plastic grill, with the sticker that featured some hot dogs & burgers on the grates. (It WAS a yacht, fine dining included!) Then, the unthinkable happened. I tipped the boat over, and suddenly, all my little Fisher-Price passengers, and all their Fisher-Price accessories, including the tiny yellow life preservers, and the small white lifeboat, that would have only saved one passenger, but still, and the grill, and who knows what else were all racing away from me, carried away by the flow of water and rush of the shallows.

There was nothing else to do but scream at the top of my lungs. I did not stop screaming while I began performing Emergency Rescue Actions, sloshing down the creek barefoot, grabbing at Fisher-Price Paraphenalia, as it slowed and bobbed, depending on the current. My mother arrived a couple minutes later, and interrupted the Rescue Mission. She was PISSED. She thought I had been attacked by a snapping turtle, and to be sure, had a snapping turtle latched on to my toes or fingers, I am quite certain a similar blood-curdling shriek would have travelled across the countryside. I had no time for her ire, as I was losing passengers & accessories by the second. This was probably the beginning of a long pattern of disdain and irritation between us, as one person’s agenda and emotions became completely unimportant to the other and the only course of action was to YELL. And/or cry. I remember she dismissed my silly Fisher-Price Yacht Disaster, and was not inclined to help me find everything that had been lost. (I think she did help a little, but seriously? I was looking for a higher investment of energy.)

If my foggy memory serves me correctly, we did lose the lifeboat, some accessories, and a couple of the Fisher-Price people. I don’t think I lost the captain, and I’m sure he lived with the horror for years afterwards, probably wishing he’d gone down with his ship. As we traveled down to this section of our creek two weeks ago, the stream now formed into a pool by the dam, yet still familiar as that hot summer day, I chuckled through the strange mixture of love & heavy grief that was smothering us all, and said, “Hey. This is the site of the Great Fisher-Price Yacht Disaster of 1976.” I didn’t explain it any further, it wasn’t necessary, and I saw myself as that screaming kid, where the world’s greatest misfortune was to lose a few pieces of plastic, and have your mom think a snapping turtle was attacking you. We prepare for loss our entire life, don’t we?

Update: On a whim, I did an eBay search and found this listing, talk about a pristine collection.

I had totally forgotten about the lounge chairs, and, obviously, the steak on the grill. And the DOG! Also, it seems this particular toy was officially called a houseboat, but even at a young age, I preferred the notion of a yacht.

Through all the tumult and the strife
I hear its music ringing,
It sounds an echo in my soul.
How can I keep from singing?

While though the tempest loudly roars,
I hear the truth, it liveth.
And though the darkness ’round me close,
Songs in the night it giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm,
While to that rock I’m clinging.
Since love is lord of heaven and earth
How can I keep from singing?

I have tears streaming down my face right now & for once, they are such tears of joy, a release of pent-up energy I have ignored this week, for I have a bigger hope, a confirmed hope, such a raucously joyful hope, it feels like my heart will explode from my chest and light the night sky with a thousand raining stars.

My father saw another doctor today, in Madison. I learned that his previous doctor had only seen four cases LIKE his cancer before, none in the past five years (until he showed up.) This doctor? My dad was his fourth patient TODAY with his kind of cancer. It’s very rare, but they have a protocol they follow (Yes, James, protocol, just like CTU on “24”) and it has a 75% success rate in prolonging life. This particular doctor has a patient who presented with identical-to-worse symptoms like my father’s – and is still kickin’ it a year and a half later. And all of this before we even touch the basket called “Alternative Therapies”, like stem cell and whatnot. The doom and gloom is still there, but it has been banished to a corner. They have two kinds of chemo he will take, and he starts next Thursday. He’s still going to Mayo on Monday, because why wouldn’t you, and then if it ever reaches a point he needs to get in there, they have everything, he’s been there, the process accellerates. We all know there is caution, there is no cure, this isn’t a ten-year reprieve. But when you’re staring at two months and it feels like you’ve suddenly been given a task in Hades, to fill a pot with water using a sieve, the notion of a year, the notion of solutions and hope, feels like the desperation has been reduced. (You know, when I was a kid and read about that Hades task, I always imagined I’d line the sieve with moss, to make it retain a little bit of water. Always looking for an end-run, even around death…)

The lyrics above are from an Enya song, and because I have a permanent jukebox in my head that associates songs with how I’m feeling, I kept hearing the line “How can I keep from singing” in my head all night & I decided to look up the lyrics to see if the rest was a fit. I’m just so very, very grateful that today, we were given a rock to cling to, and the storm around us seems to have calmed. I know the waters will churn again, and I recognize the odds, and know we have no guarantees. But if I’ve learned one thing in the past four weeks, which is exactly how long it has been, today, I have learned that the things we think are important and the things that truly are important are often different. The petty bullshit of friends who’ve let me down, who’ve dropped out of my life, all that choppy stuff that consumed the irritated part of my mind, I’ve discovered how quickly I divested those stocks, and put my energy & love into what’s most important to me. I thank you, too, for continuing to read – I noticed a drop once Ye Olde Cancer Story hit here, and those people just want Fun Jen, to be entertained, but that’s not life, or at least not my blog. My blog’s as real as I can be in written form, without getting my ass fired or calling out people by name who piss me off. And tonight, I give you a photo I took when we were at my dad’s two weeks ago, a picture I’ve greedily kept only to myself, for what it represented, for what it signified – he still has his hair, we had spent a wonderful weekend together – and my god, I just love him so much. What the hell, here’s two:

I cannot keep from singing.

All right, so yesterday, I decided to freak out about avian bird flu. I don’t really know how to prevent getting it, apart from living in a bubble (and, by the way, how do you drive a car if you’re in a bubble? Does it un-bubble? Could you FoodSaver yourself instead, with an air source?), and the recommendation in the Reuters story was all the same stuff as preventing a cold – wash your hands a lot (hi, let’s bring on the OCD!), cover your mouth when you sneeze, and the new one, my favorite, maintain a ring of personal space roughly 3 feet in diameter. Yes, that won’t set me apart at work. DON’T TOUCH ME. STAND BACK! NEVER MIND MY GLOVES. OR MY PLASTIC SHEATH.

Then, Kristin told me the good news, that in ferrets, Theraflu cures the bird flu. ROCK ON! I love Theraflu! The hot lemony goodness that puts me to sleep in no time. Of course, there is nothing ferretlike about me, the only thing pointy is my wit, BUT, hey, I feel reassured that the CDC and WHO are on top of this pandemic, testing the ferrets.

Moving on. At lunch yesterday (pre-avian-flu-freakout) I decided to procure the largest bag of taffy I’ve ever seen, where else but Costco? This taffy is like chewing flavored air, which means after about 12 pieces, you pick up on the fact you’re popping taffy like a junkie, and only then because your desk is littered with little waxy wrappers. GOOD STUFF. I was thinking last night about the candy I would buy as a kid – I never went for chocolate, I went for stuff that lasted a long time. Lik-M-Aid Fun Dip, for instance. And that taffy that was flat, really big, and super stretchy – had the ribbons of color that told you what flavor it was, unsophisticated packaging? They were teeth-pullers, too, very taffy-ish. Fortunately for me, everyone else likes this new taffy, too, so I doubt it will be around very long. (4.5 pound bag! I’m telling you, the Costco values, they are astounding! I can’t wait until they carry Personal Orb-O-Spheres.)

Last, but not least, tonight is our Ad Club’s Ad Wars trivia competition. Just label me “dead weight” – especially for anything before 1990. If it wasn’t in the New Yorker, I hardly knew about it. The brand that was the biggest mystery to me was always Clinique. I never understood what they were sellin’, because I didn’t know what in hell it was. But, as I’ve waxed rhapsodic before, I always wanted to go to the Helmsley Palace, because even though Leona was ugly as sin, she wore a tiara, and she had no time for bad hangers, poor-quality sheets, or sub-par service. So, if there are any questions about Leona Helmsley and the Helmsley Palace? I am ON IT like a ferret on Theraflu.

him: You went to bed early.
me: I’m still awake.
him: You were snoozing when I came down.
me: Nope. I’m awake.
him: You were SNORING.
me: No I wasn’t.

I’m not sure what it is within us, that sometimes denies the truth, and counters with the utmost conviction to the contrary. Obviously I had fallen asleep & awoke when he came to bed, but in my mind, I had been awake the entire time. And I fully believed my version at the time, though this morning I knew if he said I was snoring, I’m sure I was.

As we grow up, as we learn to accept truths and tautologies, things which cannot be denied forever if we want to live a real, honest life, the fight to deny or avoid becomes shorter, for we realize that place gives us nothing but a delusion that we are immune. I have gradually grown to accept that my father has cancer. I even accept that at some point, it will be what takes him from me. I don’t accept that nothing can be done, I don’t accept that one doctor has all the answers; yet, in this not-even-a-month-long journey, I awoke today to realize that I am getting a callous on my heart. Intellectually, I know I have to, otherwise, every day is awash in pain and grief and denial all over again. In order to function, in order to move forward, both with my life & to support his fight, I have to thicken the scar, plaster the cracks, and yet I hate that callous, I footnote it in my mind: because it exists does not mean I don’t care, that the pain isn’t still there, that anything has dissipated, that I love him any less or that I accept anything lying down.

(This experience may change me, but I doubt it will change the core of who I am, and I never accept anything lying down. Except bon bons. Bon Bons are perfectly acceptable, and indeed, preferable, when lying down.)

The three words that floated through my head before I fell asleep last night were:

Impenetrable, inured, indefatigable

I thought of how my father has given me this wonderful vocabulary, how we studied for the spelling bees, how he encouraged me to read so many books, way beyond my age level. How yesterday, on the phone, I thought the word “inured” and two second later, he said it. Nobody will ever, ever take this away from me.

Impenetrable and indefatigable are similar enough. My spirit and drive and force of will yesterday would not be stopped. It was even more rewarding that night, to know how it buoyed my father’s spirits, hearing how I had entered the battlefield, pushing things forward, maneuvering through the medical system and every time an obstacle came into my path, I pushed it aside. It truly is not a system designed around the patient, and the wires and tape and numerous locations and branches and divisions simply fuel the Hydra that it is, every time you lop one head off, two heads grow back in its place. I was absolutely drained & exhausted by 3:30, but I left work early & went home to update JWo, my aunt, and then a closing call to dad, just to make sure he knew everything I knew, and in case he had any other questions.

A lot of people have asked me if my mother knows about this whole situation. (My parents have been divorced about 6 years or so, and my father re-married 4 years ago.) I haven’t actually spoken with my mother in nearly 3 years. The topline is that we don’t have a relationship because I’m fat, which always shocks people, because even the most physique-obsessed people can’t comprehend severing ties with your offspring over weight. Believe me. I know it’s nuts, it’s taken a lifetime to get used to, and while I spent many hours and years fighting the reality of the situation, I have decided to put more energy into living my life than lamenting what could or should have been. I cannot control another human being, only myself. It may sound like a skin-deep problem, but with most everything, there is always more beyond the surface, and who knows, maybe someday I’ll finally write that book, “Fat Like Me” and give the whole subject the time & space it’s occupied in my world. This is a long-about way, but important background, of bringing us to the last word, inured. (Dictionary.com: “To habituate to something undesirable, especially by prolonged subjection; accustom”)

When I spoke to my father yesterday, he let me know that his friends alerted my mother to his condition, I think he wanted her to know so if she wanted to try & make peace with him, or in her own heart, she would have the opportunity. I of course indulged in 10 seconds of bone-cutting sarcasm, because she knows that for me, my father hung the stars in the sky, and she would know how all of this is ripping me in half, and someone capable of being a mother would set aside her own anger, her own problems, to support her child. My father, who hates the notion of me steeping my heart in anger for even a minute, chided me gently for it, and I reassured him, that 15 years ago, all of this would have hurt me so much more, but that I have gotten used to the mantra of not caring. And the word “inured” floated by in my mind. Always paranoid I might use a word incorrectly, I didn’t say it. But then he came back and said, “Yes, you’ve become inured,” and it was like we were hanging the stars together.

Boy. I am going to eventually become a patient advocate, and while I’m sure the pay won’t be great, I will be excellent at it. I am already struggling with not feeling guilty for not having done all of this for my father before today. I won’t say I’ve been perfect; in fact, all of the nurses I’ve spoken with today have gotten to hear the quaver and high voice that comes before the tears. Hey, at least I’m not being a total cold-hearted bitch.

I have pushed ahead the process of getting him to Mayo. In fact, the referred doctor called me back, twice, and we had long discussions about his condition, what else he needed before an appointment could be made, etc. As I said later to Kristin & our boss, they don’t fuck around at Mayo.

It is going to require two more courier deliveries before all the necessary films, slides & x-rays have all gotten to the desk of this doctor. He has to have everything before he makes the appointment. But given my dad’s condition, they will get him in quickly. And as we’ve all said, even if they don’t suggest doing anything differently, we’ll know we’ve tried. And I can’t imagine they haven’t got a more sophisticated process for managing his pain, which has been enormous. So many unknowns, but today, I feel like I can at least see the road under my feet. Called I-35 to Rochester, MN.

Oh, and the whole thing about Mayo not fucking around? Neither do I. Even in great sorrow. My new rap name will be Tenacious J. I’ll still record under P. Nuggy, but for some independent projects, Tenacious J it is.