Guilt & Inertia

Inertia: A tendency to do nothing or remain unchanged.

Guilt: A feeling of having done wrong or failed in an obligation.

Today is one of those days. My head tells me one thing, but my supine position, wrapped in blankets on a coldish day, laptop poised comfortably on my legs tells me another. Looking over at the clock says it's 9:38. At 10, you are truly a slug. So I have 22 minutes to make a choice. Invariably I will make the correct one, but in the meantime, I'm struggling with the guilt over inertia right now.

I've been up since 7:30. Got up, woke daughter, made coffee, made other daughter breakfast (first daughter doesn't eat, gave up trying), read paper, ate. Made sure first daughter didn't go back to sleep (you have to be super vigilant on that score) Let other daughter eat half my breakfast slyly giddy that I've tempted my militant "vegetarian" to eat pigs in a blanket. Her father has brainwashed her into thinking being vegetarian is the superior moral choice, but bless her heart, she loves different foods. I keep trying to explain the hierarchy of predators and the natural food chain and such, but she insists, as she wolfs down the occasional bacon and burger that she loves animals. If she only knew that her morally superior vegetarian father also grew up loving bacon and burgers,,,,,,

So, at last get first daughter out the door and off to school. Second daughter has the day off. When did teachers start getting a whole day off to record grades? I guess it was right when they got recess off as "coffee breaks". But that's beside the point isn't it?

I let second daughter play computer and watch TV. It's her weekend with her Dad this weekend so, he can enforce the homework rule. I returned to my comfy bed, checked my Facebook page, read Google News, wasted time on other people's Facebook pages and let my mind trace through the various duties and obligations that I have before me that I realize I am avoiding. Some are small errandy type things, others are largish, life choice type of first steps.

1. See invention made.

2. Plan spring college reunion.

3. Get children's book published.

4. Go to the gym and continue my quest to become a" jalker". (not misspelled. I had a friend call it "wogging" but that puts me closely in awareness of my many wobbly bits that in fact wiggle when I attempt to walk, then jog, then walk again) In any case, I am slowly but surely making my way to becoming a Jalker if I would only make sure I get to the gym every day.

5. Make cake for Dan's boss for being so supportive through his illness.

6. Find something fun for second daughter and me to do today since she has no school.

7. Update my blog.

So, since I had my laptop on my lap, and my phone at close range, I started the process rolling for numbers 1, 2, and 3. After months and months and months of procrastination, I made an appointment with a guy who helps people realize their invention concepts. It seems that a woman I went to high school with, married a guy who has a company that does that. And I have at least one potentially marketable invention idea. I've known about this woman's husband for about 5 years now, but only have known his phone number for a few months. I have an appointment for next Tuesday. Yea! Take that inertia. Take that guilt over inertia!

I called the guy I'm planning the reunion with. Now that's only been about 3 weeks in the avoidance category. I make all kinds of apologies for not calling yet, but at last, the phone call ball is now in his court. Take that inertia. Take that guilt over inertia!

I emailed the woman who I know who is in some kind of job to do with children's literature. We planned to have lunch about 6 months ago, and then one thing and another came along and we never made the ultimate reschedule, so it went poof. I'll start that process over again and who knows, my book might be one tiny step closer to realization. Take that inertia. Take that guilt over inertia.

Looking up at the clock on my computer. YIKES. It's 10 now. Only true slugs and slaggards are still in bed after 10. And since pretty much nothing productive will come of this blogging stuff, I'd better get a move on.

Take that inertia. Take that guilt over inertia!

oh, by golly, check off number 7.

M

The C word

I hardly know where to begin. I usually like to be funny in my blogs. Or try. But this isn't really funny. Humor plays a part, but it's not the primary emotion or characteristic. I'd say the main elements are,,,,, COPE and HOPE.

So, Dan, my husband of not quite a year, went in for his colonoscopy the night before our first anniversary (what is it with cancer and newlyweds? huh Susan? huh Jan?). I sat in the waiting room, for what seemed like days. Traces of worry threaded their way through my consciousness, but I didn't really allow them in. But as more and more people came out, and they weren't Dan, I was starting to wonder. Finally they asked me to go in.

I saw Dan standing up, looking a bit clammy. I don't know how you can look clammy, but he did. We were asked to go into a little room. I think the cope mechanism started there, Aug. 14. It hasn't abated since. They showed us a picture of his colon. It didn't look pretty. And you'd be surprised, a healthy colon can look pretty decent. I was listening, trying not to look worried, or scared, just strong and ready. The C word was darting all around the outside edges of my brain, but I figured I wasn't going to be the first to say it. Dan looked pretty shocked. And no one had even said cancer yet. They were talking about a growth, a separate polyp, biopsies, surgery, results, but no one said cancer. Since I didn't want to be there all day, I finally asked the doctor the actual question. I remember he gave me the weirdest answer. He said it was most certainly cancer, but he didn't know yet if it was benign or malignant. What? I didn't think cancer could be benign, but still, I hung onto whatever glimmer of hope I thought that statement might have suggested. Dan was pretty much still in shock. We both asked some more questions, and then staggered out into the glaring light of day bewildered.

I did what I always do in situations like this. I called my own personal physician. Daddy. He confirmed my confusion. If it's cancer, that's it, it's cancer. What the doctor should have said was growth, or tumor. Those could be benign. I was hoping that the Kaiser doctor's language deficit was to blame. We would just have to wait for the biopsy results. Two weeks to wait.

Regardless of the biopsy result, he'd have to have the "growth" removed. So, we started to prepare for that. Dan and I talked, and he was beautifully forthcoming about his concerns, his reactions, his feelings, his fears. But I won't reveal those. Those are for his blog if he ever had one, which he doesn't and won't. Suffice to say, I don't think it's my right to communicate his innermost thoughts and feelings.

Vacations were cancelled, life put on hold while we waited for the results. It's so odd to reflect back, but I held out my optimism until the last possible second. I realized that if he was to get a diagnosis of cancer, it would come in it's own good time. I wasn't going to quake in my boots while waiting. And if the diagnosis ended up coming, I'd do what countless other spouses, loved ones, significant others do in the same situation; whatever was necessary to support, comfort, accommodate and cherish my loved one.

I finally got the call. Cancer. Shit. (no fucking pun intended.) I was driving when he told me. It was still a shock, even though it was one of only two possible outcomes. Had I thought I could positive think it otherwise? I was then so concerned for how he would take it. I think I only allowed myself about a minute to wallow in anything before I just decided that from here on, it was all about getting it taken care of. Being supportive and all the other stereotypic cancer patient's wife's stuff.

Now, it's 5 months in. Surgery, went well. Healing from surgery, went well. Chemo started. That's grinding, then some relief and then grinding again. We have 2.5 more months of that to go.

But the good thing is that now we can really consider him to not have cancer anymore. Just having the treatment to ensure he doesn't get it again. At least that's our position.

Do I love him more than before? No, I always loved him at the top of the scale.

Do I value life more? No, I think my life choices reveal that I appreciate what I have, the people I love and the life I lead.

Do I have more compassion for people and their struggles? Probably. You see a lot in hospitals.

Do I have a new opinion of Kaiser? Oh yeah. They have been really great caregivers.

Am I wiser for the experience? I wish, but I'm the same old whack job I've always been.

It's just another fork in our road. Just a few cells that went amuck and gave us a different experience. Profound as it was, it was just another element of life to be lived. Of course things are learned from every life threatening crisis.

Probably the biggest, deepest and most wonderful outcome has been the onslaught of support and concern and action from all of our friends and family. They have been so affirming and heartwarming. Maybe that alone was worth the price of admission. But then too, we know, both of us deep in our hearts, that all that love and support has always been there. Regardless, it felt good to be enveloped by it. (I could blog endlessly on that subject, and most likely I will)

And somewhere in my spiritual soul, (and I do have one) I thank god that we caught the cancer in time and feel confident that we'll hit our second anniversary and our third, and our fourth,,,,,, and our 50th. We were lucky. Thanks everyone!! Love you.