C is for Crybaby

Little did I know when I wrote my last post that things would get worse before they got better.  Turns out my shortness of breath and cough were caused by fluid accumulating around my heart, and on July 1 I was admitted to the hospital for an unplanned surgery to remove that fluid.  I spent 3 long days and nights on the 5th floor of St. Thomas Midtown.   Unfortunately, fluid is now accumulating in my left lung, so I have one more surgery scheduled for this coming week.

When  I was a kid I loved riding the roller coaster.  The speed and turns were exhilarating and I would scream out loud with pure joy.  Now, imagine the worst kind of roller coaster, the rickety ride that makes you queasy and sick and scared.  That's what the past 2 weeks have felt like to me, hurtling along an uncertain path filled with  stress and discomfort.  I think I've shed more tears in the last ten days than I have in my entire cancer journey.

I still don't feel great physically, but emotionally I finally caught some much needed breaks today.  I got the results of my most recent chest and abdomen scans and there is no sign of any new cancer!!  The cancer I have is microscopic, irritating the linings of my lungs and heart, but not growing into tumors nor showing up in other parts of my body.  And it looks like I am good candidate for a clinical trial that is showing promising results.  Small victories to be sure, but sorely needed.

I still have to get through another surgery this week, but I know I can do it.  My family and friends continue to exceed my wildest expectations with their continued support, love and care.   I've been crying all day today, but for the first time in two weeks they are tears of relief and hope and renewed optimism.

C is for Confession

I'm not very good at confession.  In the Catholic Church it's called the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and my First Confession happened as a 4th grader. Learning the Act of Contrition prayer was easy but my first Examination of Conscience was terrifying.  It should be a thoughtful, prayerful process of calling to mind our sins before we confess, but my guide through this first time was a plump, negative, overzealous nun. She drilled into us the abomination of our sins, and reminded us repeatedly that forgetting to confess a sin to the priest was in itself another horrific sin.   It's easy to blame a crazy nun for turning me away from this sacrament, but in truth, I've never been very comfortable with the act of confession.  I'm actually much, much better now at examining my conscience and owning my mistakes and eccentricities; I just don't want to hash those things out with anyone else.

If you've been a regular reader of this blog, then you may think I have rainbows painted on my walls and sleep with a stuffed unicorn. Truth time? Confession?  This past week has been incredibly difficult, physically and emotionally.  The side effects from the drugs I am taking are wreaking havoc on my body.  I'm not sleeping very well, am bloated, swollen and in pain from retaining water, have a dry, raspy cough in addition to shortness of breath and have very little energy.   I just cancelled a work trip that I've been looking forward to for weeks because I know I'm not up to travel.  My doctor is tweaking my meds and I'm hopeful that I'll have some relief soon, but right now I'm just miserable.

In the spring of that same 4th grade year, my father was transferred and we moved from Dallas, TX to Brighton, MI. I didn't want to go and remember crying hysterically when I told my best friend the news.  She was understanding and sympathetic, but the closer we got to our move date the more she disengaged from our friendship.  We were just ten years old and I know now that she was protecting her feelings, but back then it felt like a betrayal.  Ready for confession number two?  What if my friends now slowly drift away, weary from slogging through the ups and downs of this disease with me?  No, I don't really think this will happen.  But oh, the insecurities of my former ten year old self take over at 3 AM when I am wide awake and uncomfortable.

I've said from the beginning that I want this blog to reflect my determination to stay positive and grateful, but several wise friends have reassured me that it is OK to to share the good with the bad.  They've actually encouraged me to do more of that.  So I confess - it's been a crappy week.  I'm wallowing, feeling sorry for myself, wishing I was on that business trip with a wonderful colleague.  But don't worry - next time I write, C is for.....well, I'm not sure yet!  But C is always for Colleen, and I always bet on myself.

C is for Conversation

I count journalists, chefs, doctors, philanthropists, architects and teachers as friends, and  last night I attended a dinner party that reminded me how lucky I am to know such interesting people!  Over a wonderful dinner of crab cakes, spicy slaw and a nice bottle of Pinot Noir, with Fleetwood Mac's Rumours playing in the background, the conversation went in a thousand different directions.  We debated swing dancing, Winston Churchill, vegetarianism, canoeing, the resurgence of beer in a can, the merits of Twitter, the upcoming city elections, and spotting famous people in odd places. 

Dinner parties are also a time to share the latest books we've read, the movies that made us cry, and the new restaurants we've tried.   In the 1990's, the only restaurant downtown was The Old Spaghetti Factory, which miraculously is still in business.  (Although, really, is it ever a good idea to put factory into the name of a restaurant?)  Now, Nashville has become quite the foodie town, and while we love our new reputation we bemoan how hard it is to get a reservation.  We used to be able to pull a group together on Wednesday and make a reservation for Saturday night anywhere in town - now we often need a month's notice!  Perhaps sentimentality just comes with middle age, but we reminisced about the Nashville of old with great fondness.  Does anyone else remember the Italian Street Fair, the Summer Lights Festival or Faison's?  How about the IHOP near Vanderbilt where one of the waiters dressed up like Elvis?  We're making plans to see a Sounds baseball game since it is the last summer they will be playing in Greer Stadium. 

As I was driving home, I couldn't stop smiling thinking about the friends I have made since moving here in 1990.  We've changed, just as our city has, and I like to think we're all (mostly) the better for it.  Our conversations overall have become deeper, more thoughtful, but are still laced with humor and irreverence. And thankfully, I don't think we will ever run out of topics to talk about.

C is for Childhood

My parents are downsizing yet again, so last weekend I was in Jacksonville helping to clean out their house.   Although I am doing just fine, I was deemed "not fit for duty" in the stifling garage and was relegated to tasks inside the air conditioned house.  (And yes, I owe my siblings a huge debt of gratitude for that one!) So I settled in on the sofa, surrounded by many boxes and bags of old photo albums and frames. There was a lot to cull through - my mother chronicled every birthday, holiday and graduation - but the time flew by as I relived the best memories of my childhood, album by album.  There were countless pictures of my siblings, too, but hey, this is my blog.  :)

The early years:   Sure, I am biased, but I was absolutely adorable.   I'm in footie pajamas or a smocked dress in every shot, complete with a bowl haircut and an impish grin.

The middle school years:  Ah, the 70's were tragic.  I got glasses, acne and boobs all at the same time, and I wore the unflattering bell bottoms and earth shoes of the day.

The early high school years:  My glasses got bigger and my skirts got shorter, and apparently I was trying to channel Farrah Fawcett with my perfectly feathered hair.

The later high school years:  A move from rural Michigan to the suburbs of Chicago inspired my classic preppy look.   Alligators, add-a-beads and madras ruled my wardrobe, and I traded my coiffed hair for a ponytail and ribbons.

The albums continued well past my high school years, but it was the photos from my childhood that made me smile the most. I know I'm looking back with rose colored glasses, but my formative years were pretty idyllic.  We had everything we needed and most of what we wanted.  Dad worked hard at a job I knew nothing about, and Mom was always there to fix us a snack or drive us to an activity or appointment.  I was a Girl Scout, went to summer camp, played four square in the driveway and babysit the neighbor's kids.  I loved jumping on our trampoline, ignoring my younger siblings and watching The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family on TV. It was all so blessedly innocent and normal.  I don't know what I will do with all the photos I brought home with me, but I do know I will always cherish the memories they evoke.

C is for Concert

I estimate I've been to 40-50 concerts through the years.  In high school I saw bands like Journey, Styx and Foreigner, and have seen a variety of artists through the years including Lyle Lovett, Elvis Costello, Patty Griffin, and of course, Jimmy Buffett.  But last night I saw what may now be my favorite concert of all time - the Indigo Girls backed by the Nashville Symphony.

I started listening to the Indigo Girls when they first hit the musical scene in the mid to late 1980's. Their haunting harmonies and intelligent, thoughtful lyrics spoke to me then, and still do today.  As a young college graduate struggling to create my future, I related to the words "and the less I seek my source from some definitive, the closer I am to fine".  When I spent a summer in Dallas working for Habitat for Humanity, I was inspired by the lyrics of Hammer and Nail, "if I have a care in the world I have a gift to bring".

Last night was more than just a concert - it was an amazing experience made possible by the generosity of two of my best friends, and made sweeter by the presence of my sister.  We started with dinner at one of the top restaurants in town, then strolled over to the Symphony Center to our box seats complete with wine and snacks. We were on the second level, with seats so close to the stage we could clearly see the facial expressions of the musicians.  The familiarity of the music, the intimate setting, the swelling of the strings and the beat of the timpani were overwhelming; when the concert began my eyes filled with tears.  I found myself singing along to the songs of my youth, surprising myself that the words came back so easily.  Backed by the excellent Nashville Symphony, these beloved favorites took on a new level of intensity and beauty.  To the amusement of my friends and sister my tears kept flowing, fueled by nostalgia and the voices of the Indigo Girls, all the better with age.  The night ended with a rousing rendition of "Closer to Fine" with the entire audience on their feet singing at the top of their lungs.  It was a truly magical concert experience that I won't soon forget.

C is for Commencement

My beautiful, smart niece graduated from Father Ryan High School this past Sunday.  Resplendent in her purple robe, she was positively beaming in every single picture she was in.  (Check out Facebook - she was in a lot of pictures).    We capped the day with a family dinner where we toasted her accomplishments and shared our favorite silly stories about her.

The graduation ceremony itself was lovely, and the words of her principal struck a deep chord with me. In fact, I leaned over to my sister and whispered "I just figured out my next blog post".   He shared the results of a survey given to parents of high school students in which they were asked - if you could only choose one outcome, would you prefer to see your child successful, happy or good?  Overwhelmingly the parents chose happiness.  At face value that answer makes a lot of sense, but the principal said the results puzzled him as he expected a parent would want a child to be good, first and foremost.  After all, you can be happy but not be good, and yes, you can be good and not be happy.  But if you develop and cultivate gratitude in your life, then being good can and will bring you happiness.    I've thought about his words frequently over the past few days, and it struck me that the happiest people I know are also the most grateful.  It is also telling that those same happy people have faced more than their fair share of adversity, yet gratitude fuels their happiness despite the challenges.

This August my niece will start college in Connecticut, studying to become a nurse.  I think she has the right mix of skills and temperament to be successful in her chosen profession - she is caring, has a steady head and steady hands, and the sight of blood doesn't faze her one bit.  She is an outgoing, vibrant young woman who I believe is happy with herself and excited about the future. And maybe I am biased, but I do think she is good.  For her graduation I gave her a pair of earrings, and now I give her this blog post so that she will always remember the lesson of her commencement, that there is no real happiness without gratitude.  I think she is going to be just fine.

C is for Coast

I'm back from a few days in one of my favorite places, Rosemary Beach.  This little town on Florida's gulf coast has everything - a cool coffee shop, amazing restaurants, a few great boutiques, and of course, a gorgeous beach!  The greens and blues of the water, the sugar white sand, the crashing of the waves - the sights and sounds of the ocean have always calmed and comforted me.  Every evening we'd walk down to the beach to watch the sunset and marvel at the way the light bathed the water and sand in a rosy, shimmering glow.  And most nights, we'd walk back to the beach after dinner to gaze at the multitude of stars above the dark water.   It's easy for me to forget the minutia of my own life when standing next to the immense, ever changing entity that is an ocean.  It is perspective on the grandest scale of all!

I can admit it now - I was worried that Rosemary would somehow feel different this time around. It was definitely a study in moderation for me, something for which I am not generally known. I took a daily nap to keep up my stamina,  limited my wine consumption, and opted for appetizer size portions for many of my meals.   But I finally realized that the only one who cared how much wine I drank was me, and in the end, I really didn't care that much.  The truth is, I am different than the last time I was there, but so are my friends, so is the town itself.

My "moderation vacation" was actually pretty wonderful. The weather was perfect, every meal was better than the last and I read two great books.  And each evening when I watched the sunset over the gulf, I did so in the company of four smart, funny and compassionate friends.  We're already looking at houses for our next trip to this special place, whenever that might be.   In the meantime, I'll treasure my memories of surf, sand and laughter.