The field across the road is covered by mist. It’s the kind of blanket that envelopes the earth so completely, that you can’t see the grass. You can’t see if the neighborhood cats, Sneaky Pete and Tux, are on the prowl. You can’t see if the Wild Turkey Gang has returned (they’re probably distantly related to Boston’s Brookline Turkey Gang) .
The mist hides things—creating a blank canvass, not at all unlike the (almost) blank page that I’m currently looking at. I’m at a stand-still, questioning what I should fill this page with….
Maybe, since I requested prayers, I should tell you how my appointment in Boston went?
It went great!
The white blood cell line that I was worried about, was still elevated. I suspected that it would be. This particular cell line, known as your Eosinophils, usually indicate allergies when elevated in a normal person. In a transplant recipient, it can indicate the presence of Graft Versus Host Disease (GVHD).
I have allergies. I’m allergic to Alderaan (our cat) and I’m allergic to Spring.
However, because I was inexplicably losing weight, there was a possibility that I had GVHD in my GI tract. The only way to confirm this was with an Upper GI Scope—which, I obviously didn’t want.
So, what did I do? I ate ice cream before bed nearly every night.
I put some pounds back on. I’m still not at my fighting weight, but according to my lead transplant doctor, “You look great for being 19 months old”.
My reward for the difficult job of wiping out whole pints of cookie dough ice cream? A decrease in my anti-rejection medication! AND I get to discontinue my prescription Daily-Vite tab (Hello, gummy vitamins. I’ve missed you). I’m also no longer taking Folic Acid (which, ironically, had the highest co-pay). The amount of Magnesium-Oxide that I have to take has been reduced from 400mg three times a day, to once a day.
This is beautiful, wonderful, progress!
Did eating ice cream on a daily basis really instigate these positive changes? No. I believe it was all of the prayers, light and love that you, Dear Readers, surrounded me with. Your presence has had a positive impact on my life—on every life that you come in contact with. Please remember how powerful you truly are.
These wishes for a “Happy Easter” are either a day late (if one celebrates Easter Sunday) or right on time for those that celebrate Easter Monday.
Either way, Dear Readers, I hope you were/are able to celebrate Easter in the way that best suits you—whether that was attending an early morning church service and singing hymns (i.e. “Christ the Lord is Risen Today”), or hiding plastic Easter eggs in your backyard for your kids to find. Maybe you and your family celebrate with a delicious Easter dinner.
Or, maybe, the holiday is a time of reflection—to note all of the little ways in which spring has influenced our surroundings—and to ponder renewal, regrowth, resurrection. Maybe it’s finding the first daffodil or crocus brave enough to push through the earth. Maybe it’s sitting on your porch, eating jelly beans, and listening to birdsong.
Whatever you chose to do, I hope it filled your heart with joy and excitement for spring. I hope it motivated you to be a good steward today, Earth Day. I hope that that happiness stays with you throughout the week.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your presence here. Please keep the prayers, love and light coming. I am having my port surgically removed this coming week. Please pray that the procedure goes smoothly, that I heal quickly, and that I don’t remember any of it!
We all have our own eccentricities. We have habits that we can’t remember when, or why, they started. In fact, our quirks may be so embedded in our day-to-day lives that we can’t even recognize them anymore.
One of my quirks (which I am aware of only because it involves conscious decision-making) is to pick my coffee cup each morning, not by how much coffee it will hold, but by what it says. For instance, I pick this coffee cup when I need to feel stability, positive energy, and/or need to smile.
“Live. Laugh. Love.” It’s the recipe for happiness. And, who doesn’t want to have a happy day?
You may remember this coffee mug from a previous post. Yes, I drink from this cup when I’m writing—and particularly when characters have some bad karma coming their way. I invest a lot of time and energy into crafting my fictional characters; it hurts to injure and/or kill them. Sometimes, though, the plot requires suffering. As a writer, I do what I have to do.
Similar to some of my characters, and the unfortunate events that befall them, I, too, need healing. It is at this moment, that I reach for this handmade coffee cup:
Made by Healing Touch Pottery, the stone embedded in this cup’s handle is believed to encourage healing. My body, mind, and soul need a lot of that.
And, let’s not forget the mugs that make me giggle:
As some of you know, I became a Harry Potter fan later than the rest of my cohort. I was in my late twenties when I finally sat down to read the second book of the series. From there, I couldn’t stop reading. For a time, I read non-stop, until there was nothing left to read. Fortunately, it’s a series that is easy to revisit.
You may not know this about me, but I have very little confidence. My self-esteem has flat-lined over the past few years. I don’t feel strong or brave, so, having a coffee mug that tells me, “I’m Fucking Magical”, gives me a much-needed boost. It makes me believe that I might accomplish good—or maybe even great things—during my day. It buoys my spirits, energizes me, and makes me feel special.
Of course, there are some mornings, wherein I just need love:
This mug helps me on the mornings when I feel as though my tank is empty, as though there’s nothing left of me to give or share. I take a sip of coffee from this cup, and, somehow, I feel loved and capable of sharing love with others.
I believe, Dear Readers, that love—to be cared for deeply by someone or something (i.e. a pet)—is as essential as food and water. So, too, is being kind and caring toward others.
As always, thank you so much for your prayers, love, and light. You have carried me through so much and I am so, so grateful for your presence here.
If my fiancé is home, and awake, “The Office” is usually on. I’ve watched nearly every season of the television show with him. Occasionally, though, something strikes me as being new or important. Today, it was an episode in which the women of the office attended a meeting regarding gender in the workplace. Although the question was never actually asked (I re-watched the episode 3 times to be certain of this), the women started providing answers to the query, “where do you want to be in 5 years?”.
I’ve heard this question in the past—during job interviews and/or while preparing for job interviews. I’ve never considered applying it to my personal life. My knee-jerk response to the question was, “I want my novel published!” (I shouted that answer, in case you’re wondering.)
My fiancé smiled at this, but then suggested, “What about being alive?”
Although I am frequently haunted by my medical history, I have somehow taken my life—and the fact that I am still alive—for granted. I’m not certain how that happens. If I had to guess, I’d say that I get swept up by various anxieties, day-to-day chores…and forget that our next breath is not guaranteed.
But, yeah, still being alive in 5 years is a good (if not great) goal. Being alive and cancer-free is an even greater goal. Being alive, cancer-free and GVHD-free, is perhaps the greatest goal.
What will I do with this new-found health and appreciation? I’ll visit the ocean, walking out into the water until I am ankle deep in it. I will listen to the roar of the larger waves. I will watch the smaller waves lap the shoreline, forming lace-like patterns atop the sand.
There’s healing to be found in nature.
I’d also like to wander through the halls of Boldt Castle in Alexandria Bay.
And, maybe, while I’m there, I’ll visit the ballroom and take a moment to feel like a princess. I’d like to watch freighters navigate the St. Lawrence’s wide, wide waters. On the Fourth of July, I’ll like to admire the fireworks, lighting up both the night sky, and the river’s current with flashes of white, blue, and red.
So, Dear Readers, where would you like to be in 5 years?
Thank you, once again, for your prayers, love and light. Your kind words and thoughts have a positive impact. Please, don’t ever doubt that.
We’re only fourteen days into 2019, and, already, the new year has taught me some significant lessons.
While undecorating the Christmas tree, an angel ornament broke.
The dryer is screeching…not a little bit, but a lot.
I broke a tooth.
How can I be “okay” with any of these happenings? The answer is quite simple: most broken things can be fixed. With, perhaps, the exception of these ink-stained pajama pants:
There’s no saving these, but that, too, is okay. I only ever wear them to bed. And, if you look closer, what do those ink stains look like? Hearts. They look like hearts.
I was not happy about the angel ornament breaking. This ornament was actually a party favor from a friend’s wedding (forever ago). The angel has shown me, that although broken, she is still quite beautiful. Just a dab of hot glue, and she will be whole again. She will be ready to shine on 2019’s Christmas tree.
The dryer, of course, is another matter entirely. It’s teaching me patience (the lesson that I am given again and again. Someday, I’ll actually be patient). My fiancé has ordered replacement parts to fix the problem, but in the meantime, I have to hang our clean, but wet, laundry on a wooden clothes rack to dry. The drying process is longer, and the product is rather scratchy, but it works.
Let me tell you, when I can use that dryer again, I might just buy some sparkling juice to celebrate!
Finally, my broken tooth. This, was unfortunately, fated to happen. I can’t remember if I ever wrote about the dental evaluation that I had to have, prior to my bone marrow transplant in 2017. The short version: this evaluation resulted in having one tooth pulled and a few others marked as likely to cause future issues.
Well, here we are in the “future”, and a suspect tooth did as was predicted—it broke.
The break didn’t hurt, but unhealthy teeth are gateways for infection. So, Dear Readers, I will be visiting the dentist this morning for an exam. I’m not sure if any work will be done, but I will need to take an antibiotic anyways. PowerPorts—I still have mine—are susceptible to infection from dental work, especially if any plaque is disturbed and makes its way down the port line.
Similar to most people, I do not like having dental work done. The drill, the Novocaine shot…ugh. For me, though, it’s the overhead light that is most bothersome. It is a PTSD trigger. Sometimes, when I am sitting underneath that light, I think I can see other masked faces staring down at me—faces that performed my ICU surgery in 2010. These images bring me back to a time, and a place, wherein I was on Death’s doorstep.
That’s not an exaggeration. I nearly died, and no matter how much time passes, it is something that continues to haunt me.
How do you face a fear like that? I plan to silently recite a verse from the New InternationalVersion of the Holy Bible, specifically, Psalm 91:11a. I’ve written about this verse before. I find a great deal of comfort in these words, so I thought that I’d share them once again: “For He will command His angels concerning you…”.
So, 2019, I see this challenge, and I will view it as Exposure Therapy—which, in the end, will only make me stronger.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for continuing to send love, light and prayers. You give me hope and strength to see the positive in so many situations. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
When I was younger, I imagined that “New Year’s Eve” consisted of bright lights and glittery decorations.
It also included getting dolled up:
And, of course, you have to make resolutions.
To make resolutions or not? That is the question I’m considering on this last day of 2018.
Are there aspects of my life that I would like to improve upon? Absolutely! Becoming 100% healthy would be wonderful. Building enough leg strength to walk in high heels once again would also be great.
These goals, however, are easily influenced by outside forces beyond my control. One virus, one bacterial infection, could very easily sabotage my plans to become healthy. One ankle sprain could further weaken my already unstable ankles.
While I can still pursue these goals, they can’t be my only resolutions. The margin for failure is too high. I, for one, become exceedingly melancholy when I can’t fulfill my resolutions. To be successful, I need more than just a statement of “I’m going to do this” or “I’m going to make this happen”.
I need a statement, and then, a plan.
For example, I would like to read more. If this resolution is to be successful, there must be benchmarks. There must be preparation.
Step 1 – Select thin books from my personal collection (this step is based on the premise that shorter books can be read faster. The premise is only true if the books are well-written and focus on an interesting topic).
Step 2 – Aim to read a certain number of books each month (I would start with one—just to avoid failure).
Step 3 – Record progress in a journal or agenda (Accountability is, unfortunately, a necessary evil).
While reading more would be phenomenal exercise for my chemo-scarred brain—and I will give this goal a try—I have larger objectives to pursue. I’m going back to school!
I will be enrolling in two, online courses offered by the Board of Cooperative Educational Services (also known as BOCES). These two courses will form the foundation of my next goal: obtaining a certification in Medical Coding through the American Academy of Professional Coders (AAPC). It appears (knocking very loudly on wood) that I am going to live. And, if I live long enough, I’d like to be able to retire.
This new pursuit doesn’t mean that I will be walking away from writing.
Writing is how I decompress, and process my own feelings. I will continue to post on this blog and to work on pieces of fiction.
So, after writing all of this…I guess I do have resolutions for the coming year!
Thank you, Dear Readers, for sticking with me throughout 2018. Your light, love, and prayers have made an incredible, and positive, impact on my health and my life. I am wishing each of you a wonderful and healthy New Year. Here’s to a fresh start in 2019!
This past Friday I had my annual eye exam. I know—it’s hardly world-changing. And, yet, wearing the correct prescription lenses can have a transformative power. Being able to see distances, clearly, is a blessing…one I didn’t always appreciate when I was younger.
I started wearing glasses my freshman year of high school. And, because of vanity, I often refused to wear them. I would walk around without them, only half-seeing. When I did wear my glasses, I had to fight the urge to peer over or under the frames. It was a constant battle…but eventually the glasses won out.
My Achille’s heel? I liked being able to see clearly. And, obviously, I needed to wear them in order to drive safely. In college, I needed glasses in the larger lecture halls to read the white-boards and projector screens.
With my glasses on, there was no more squinting.
No more wondering, ‘hey, what’s that over there?’ or, ‘that person looks vaguely familiar. Who is that?’.
Glasses, as is their purpose, enhanced my vision—so I kept wearing them.
This most recent eye exam was a bit different. First, the eye doctor that examined me was quite thorough. She read through my medical file and took my history into consideration. I don’t remember the names of the ocular conditions that Leukemia and prolonged steroid use can cause, but she tested me for all of them. I am grateful to say that my eyes are healthy!
Surprisingly, my lens prescription didn’t change, but a new set was ordered anyways. September 2017 – September 2018 was a rough year; I picked up some scratches along the way.
Another change: normally, after an eye exam, I would have picked out a new frame. Why didn’t I this time?
Reason #1. How often are the displayed frames actually sanitized? I don’t mean to freak anyone out with my phobia of germs, but when your immune system is compromised, you think about these things.
Reason #2. I had an older frame just sitting at home—wrong prescription—but I still liked the frame. They were imbued with so many wonderful memories…it felt wrong to abandon them when they could be fitted with new lenses and put back into use.
These were the frames that I wore on my first date with the man that would become my fiancé.
They saw Montreal on our second anniversary, just weeks before I was diagnosed with relapsed Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.
These frames saw better days, days with hope and a slight hint of youthful invincibility (very slight; I’ve never been that confident about the future).
I want and need some of that perspective back. Will old frames give me that? No, but they can serve as a daily reminder—a talisman of sorts—that it is possible to see and live in a happier, healthier world.
Please continue to send prayers, love and light, Dear Readers. It does help. If you need proof—a year ago today, I was in a Boston hospital bed being prepped for my bone marrow transplant. Today would have been a chemotherapy day (some of the toughest chemo of my life). Prayers and good wishes, thankfully, can change our circumstances. Love does heal.
As always, thank you for your ongoing encouragement.
Most of the writing that I do these days is quite strict. Skraeling, my manuscript-in-progress, is now 70,497 words strong. The protagonist, Aurora, is the first anti-heroine that I have ever created. I love the story, the challenge that it poses, the research it has required—but I miss playing with words.
To regain that sense of play (and have some fun), I decided to use this week’s blog post as an opportunity to experiment, to record observations, to simply let the words take whatever shape they wanted to. For this week only, my traditional blog post has been replaced by what is essentially a free write.
Nearly every English course that I have ever taken has employed free writing for at least one class session. Why? One plausible reason is that free writing helps students get words on the page by eliminating worries about grammar, story structure, and spelling. In free writing, these conventions don’t matter—it’s the ideas that do. Typically, free writing is not edited (but the perfectionist in me happily broke that rule). So, here it is. This is where my mind wandered to:
I recently heard Autumn’s first cricket chirp.
It seems a bit soon for the insect to resume its song. Yet, there it was, chirping a melancholy tune. Too soon, too soon, I think. I need more time. I’m still on too many immunosuppressants. The anniversary of my bone marrow transplant is approaching; my immune system is supposed to be mature by that date. My bones, and my borrowed marrow, tell me that it won’t be.
I saw the first, crimson leaf on an Euonymus alatus (commonly known as a Burning Bush) yesterday.
My memory—what remains of it—pulls me back to the tan-colored, bricked buildings of our college campus. I think I see you there, amid the parade of departing students, but what do I know? I, the Woodcutter’s daughter, had to research which tree the acorn belongs to. Worse still, I had somehow forgotten that the helicopter-like seeds, the ones that spin and twirl to the ground every Fall, belong to the maple. These facts were once in my blood. How could I have forgotten?
I have felt the comforting warmth of a favorite, over-sized sweater nearly every morning this past week.
The mornings, before the sun rises in earnest, are quite cool. I shrug into the sweater—the black and white one that my mother bought for me the first time that I had cancer—and I put the hood up. From my seat at the kitchen table, I can stare out the window. I can watch the sky as it begins to lighten, darkness melting away.
I tasted a tart apple and wanted to add cinnamon, sugar, butter, and oats.
There’s more to the family recipe for apple crisp than all that, though. Once out of the oven, you will need vanilla ice cream to melt on top of it. Remember, innovation is acceptable, but only if it’s as sweet as a fine drizzle of caramel.
I smelled bitter, dark-roasted coffee.
Bitter is better at 4am in the morning. I don’t add sugar to my daily cup; God knows I have enough cavities. I only consume two cups—preferably using one of our giant mugs—and I’ll have to stop drinking after that because my heart will begin to race. My fingertips follow suit, flying over my laptop’s keyboard.
I am my own cricket, tapping out an oftentimes melancholy tune.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for allowing me to experience writing as a creative outlet once again. I apologize if this post makes very little sense, but please know that it was incredibly fun to write! I needed to do this. And, who knows? Maybe my next novel-length project will have its roots in this text.
As always, thank you for your prayers, love, and light.
Right before I opened my eyes this morning, I thought I saw the gray outline of a jigsaw puzzle.
Was I dreaming? Yes.
Was this ten-second snapshot of a dream significant? Most definitely.
I have been interested in the meaning of dreams since I was in Middle School. Naturally, I had to Google search this one, too. I didn’t dig too deeply—because it was 5am and also my scheduled writing time—and as any writer will tell you, you must fiercely protect your writing time.
For writers, while internet searches can be a tremendous resource, they also have the potential to evolve into enormous distractions. Keeping an eye on the clock, I skimmed just enough sites to learn that dream interpretation for this baby was not going to be quick.
I also learned that, for my brain health, I should probably be assembling jigsaw puzzles on a regular basis.
I enjoy building jigsaw puzzles. The first time that I had cancer, I assembled puzzles quite frequently. I stopped when Wallace the Wonderful decided that he, too, needed to spend time with the puzzles. At night, my writing partner would prowl out to the kitchen. He’d leap unto the table where the puzzle was, and dash the partially built puzzle apart. As I believe most cat owners know, once a feline destroys a puzzle, and pieces go missing, it’s hopeless. You’re never going to find that missing piece (unless you move domiciles, in which case, it’s underneath your couch with at least a dozen hair ties).
Writing the above, I realize that I am a living, breathing puzzle. Some of my pieces have been chewed on. Some have completely disappeared.
It’s not all doom and gloom, though! Incomplete puzzles can be fixed. I don’t recommend this if you’re a perfectionist, but one way to solve the problem is to take a thin piece of cardboard (flattened cereal boxes work well), slide it underneath the puzzle, and trace the shape of the missing piece. Once that’s completed, and if you’re feeling especially brave, you can draw what was on that piece. You can color it in—with paint or colored pencils. You can make it whole again.
Which, incidentally, is precisely what I’m trying to do—be whole again. To heal.
Thank you, Dear Readers, for your continued well-wishes and encouragement. Your prayers, love, and light give me hope. Thank you, thank you, thank you.