C is for Cheesy

My brother is following my blog, like a good brother should, but he told me the other day that it is a little cheesy.  He's absolutely right, and that is kind of the point! In my very first blog post I wrote that I "refuse to huddle under the covers" as I battle this disease yet again.  That is only partly true.  The whole truth is that if I stay under those covers for too long, I fear I will never get back up.  Sure, I'm an avowed optimist, but I have moments when my cancer diagnosis slams into my consciousness so hard I can't see or think or catch my breath.  Many nights I have trouble sleeping because I can't turn off my whirring brain.  I'm trying to define what the new normal is for me, but my symptoms, and my emotions, are constantly shifting.

The physical and emotional roller coaster that is cancer is exhausting, but I'm trying to focus on the parts of the ride that bring me joy.  I do have some physical symptoms, but right now they are completely manageable and don't interfere with my ability to work full-time or spend time with loved ones.  I do have my moments of darkness and doubt, but I had those kind of moments before cancer, too.   I choose to be positive, to be grateful, and to be kind to myself and to others.   I choose faith over fear, love over hate.   And if that's a little cheesy, then I choose cheese.

C is for Cardi

After enduring both rain and snow earlier this week, we've seen absolutely perfect spring weather these past two days.  Flowers and trees are blooming, the sky has been a beautiful blue, and the temperatures have been in the high 60's.  I love this time of year when I can slip on a pair of flip-flops but still wear a light cardigan without sweating.  For the fashion impaired, cardi is affectionate shorthand for cardigan, hence the title of this post.  And I admit, I own a lot of cardis.  And a lot of flip-flops for that matter. No wonder I am so cheery these days.

I've been in my home for the last 10 years, and from the street it looks like a small bungalow with a front lawn and some shrubs and plants.  But it is actually a condo, so I haven't done any yard work in those ten years which is exactly how I like it.  Despite my black thumb and lack of attention to anything outdoors, every spring random flowers appear in my raggedy beds.  Right now, a single pink tulip stands by my front door.  It looks fragile but is surprisingly sturdy; it has already survived severe thunderstorms and a late frost.

The comfort of a cotton sweater, the sassy smack of a flip-flop, the resilience of a tulip - they all signal spring.   This year more than ever before, I am embracing the spring themes of hope, faith and new beginnings. I'm sure that pink tulip has sprung up for years, but this year I admire it and am inspired by it. And this year, I have new pink flip-flops - I'm ready for the season and wherever the journey may lead.  

C is for Chuckle

I just wrapped up a weekend in Florida with my parents and most of my siblings and their spouses.  It was supposed to be a weekend to celebrate Dad, but he was incredibly fatigued and wasn't feeling well. We still held a gin rummy tournament and had a great meal at his favorite restaurant, but we spent a lot of time discussing his health and making plans for his care.  But something wonderful happened last weekend, too.   Despite concern around my Dad, despite my own recent diagnosis, despite everything that my siblings have on their very crowded plates, we laughed.  We laughed a lot.  It's hard to describe the way we interact, but I suspect that from the outside looking in we're a bit like an improv comedy group on speed.  We hurl insults at each other, drop curse words, sing snatches of songs (usually in unison) and recite lines from classic movies. Old stories are told over and over again, and this time, photo albums that chronicled our childhood came off the shelf.  (As an aside, the 70's were not a kind decade to any of us.)

And yes, we cried.  I was hugging my brother goodbye on Sunday morning and laughing at some silly joke, and suddenly, without warning, I was sobbing.  The goodbyes were definitely harder this trip for obvious reasons, but they were sweeter, too.  We're supporting each other like never before and our emotions are more raw and more authentic than they've ever been.  You could say we are using humor to cover up our real feelings, and perhaps there is some truth in that.  But I would argue we are using humor to help us navigate through a dense fog - it is our beacon, our light.

C is for Crazy

I had dinner with two wonderful guys on Monday night and the conversation turned to our many mutual friends.  One of my dinner companions said he and his partner decided that if you plotted our group of friends on a bell curve of crazy, we'd all be in the tail.  As a side note, I completely suck at probability and statistics and for a minute thought - great! - that means we're normal!  Then I realized that what he was talking about was a big fat standard deviation from normal.

Trying to define what is crazy vs. what is normal is completely subjective, but as the conversation progressed I started to think that being in the tail was a pretty good place to be.  To be clear, we weren't talking about crazy in any clinical, destructive or negative sense.   Instead, we were kicking around words like unique, spontaneous, quirky, opinionated and silly.  Perhaps crazy isn't even the right word, but it's a fun way to describe the qualities and the freedom that come with being older, wiser and finally, blessedly, comfortable in our own skin.

If you talk to my family and close friends, apparently I have a really long list of quirks.  I like to think they are endearing although I suspect others might disagree.  I can't sleep without white noise, am freakishly fast at doing the daily Jumble, and I'm a food snob who can't cook.  I love a good plan, have been known to overindulge on sauvignon blanc and yell obscenities at the TV when I am watching sports.  My laugh is loud and often obnoxious, and I love to sing but actually can't carry a tune. Embracing my quirks was one of the hardest lessons I've ever had to learn, but I'm proud of the woman I am and the traits and habits that make me uniquely me.   So call me crazy - I'm just fine with being in the tail.