Hi! Ho! Silver: AWAY!

I like how my mind wanders while I am doing tasks that don’t require full engagement.  Yesterday, while picking up the sticks from the pear trees I had pruned a couple of days before, my mental path went from children’s poems--”Five, six, pick up sticks; seven, eight lay them straight”-- to thinking about the Lone Ranger.  I thought about how destructive the notion of standing alone, of riding off to the horizon abandoning connection with people and place; off to be heroic again and again in new situations where the only common theme was the Lone Ranger rescuing; never upon building strong, stable, interconnected community capable of solving its own problems.  

I thought further about how pervasive this theme is in our culture.  From Horatio Alger to Ayn Rand and many manifestations in between:  The self made man pulling himself up by his own bootstraps, persistently shedding the grasp of the many who seemed to him intent on pulling him down.  

While picking up the bundles of sticks and carrying them a step closer to the transfer station where they will be transformed to compost,  I wondered about what it would take to transform our stories to ones in which heroic, valued acts are ones of people caring for one another  Stories about creating just systems where all voices are heard, where seeking truth carries more weight than sophistry; where compassion trumps possession; and where the commonwealth is paramount. 

Maybe it’s beyond laying them straight and big fat hen:  eleven, twelve, beyond ourselves; thirteen, fourteen, the future green; fifteen, sixteen, an end to mean; seventeen, eighteen, justice queen; nineteen, twenty, enough is plenty...      

Side Effects

The side effects from Sherry’s chemo and radiation therapies have been moderate.  The classic puffy cheek steroid look is reasonably apparent; the hair loss is obvious.  

As I understand it the radiation kills the hair follicles where the beams go in and where the beams come out.  The result is an interesting patchwork of thin hair and bare scalp.  New constellations of freckles have become visible, and await discovery and naming.  Shampooing has also changed from the rigorous scalp massage that Sherry loves to a gentler process.  I fill my cupped left hand with an extravagant pool of shampoo, close the bottle one handed, then invert my shampoo filled palm on the crown of Sherry’s bowed head.  As the cool shampoo begins to spread and is warmed by the heat from Sherry’s head, I begin to move my left hand in a soft, gentle, ever expanding circle soon joined by my right hand.  Slowly Sherry’s head is covered with smooth creamy lather and the shower stall fills with the enticingly unique baby shampoo smell.  After the rinse of warm water from the hand held shower head carries the last of the abundant lather down the drain, I can then get to work on the constellations, and on carefully inspecting Sherry’s scalp for any skin damage.  The radiation is also hard on skin, and I discover a small patch that looks like a sunburn. It will get some skin repair lotion after Sherry pats her head dry with a thick terry cloth bath towel.  

The cognitive dissonance is not as readily discerned.    Copying numbers from her address book to envelopes is difficult for Sherry to do accurately, as is writing appointments in her calendar.  Some confusion results from short term memory loss.  We don’t know if these changes are a side effect from the steroids, other medications, radiation, chemo, or are a result of the tumors themselves.  We are watching closely as Sherry’s dosage of steroids is decreased, hoping that Sherry’s sharp as a tack cognition will return.  As I write I hear Sherry doing exercises on her piano.  While scales and drills aren’t the most interesting music to hear, I am an appreciative audience.  She is integrating her left hand functioning. Playing the piano, even two handed mirror exercises, is a benchmark that seemed exceedingly lofty just weeks ago.  Seeing this change encourages us about the cognition.  

The good news is that Sherry is Sherry.  There is nothing more that I could ask for.

Comfort

Comfort comes in a multitude of ways, some from without and some from within: 

◆Waking to the dark and hearing Sherry’s breathing, regular and deep with sleep, and feeling her radiant warmth slide under the covers we share pulled up to our chins.

◆Hot shower water steaming down my body pushing rivlets of foaming Dr. Bronner’s lavender soap down the drain.

◆Hearing Sherry’s verdict on the oatmeal I have prepared for her.  “Delicious!”  I believe her while wondering how anyone could conjure up superlative exclamations about oatmeal.  

◆Going to the garden to dig a few carrots for lunch.  Forsaking the garden fork and plunging in with my bare hands, unwilling to stop at a few.  I kept sifting for more in the dark earth until I had all of them, and took them into the utility sink to remove the tops and wash the carrots.  Now my trips for a few will be to the mesh bag hanging in the garage.

◆Pondering the magnitude of the generosity of spirit, work, food, and encouragement that has been heaped upon us.  We even have a new front door that closes tight and keeps both wind and water from seeping in under it.  

◆Knowing that the only work I need to do is to dive deeper into love.  

There is discomfort in the diving:

◆Comfort is not to be found in knowing there is someone else worse off than me.  Diving deeper elicits compassion and empathy.

◆Comfort is not to be found in having when there is have not.  I recall the forlorn children begging in Malaga, Spain.  I remember how I had to harden as I made my way through them, looking, but not really seeing.  Diving deeper is to soften, to look, and to see.  

◆Comfort is not to be found holding love as an abstract, a construct from which no action emanates.  Love comes from service and not the other way around.  

Which brings me back to the love through service, gracious and generous, that has comforted me and Sherry.  It is more than we could have imagined and more than we deserve (or certainly more than I deserve).

What Halfway Looks Like

Sherry asked the technician to take a photo of her after they had her ready for today's radiation therapy.

As you can see in the photo Sherry is wearing a rigid, form fitting mask that is bolted to the table in order to keep her head absolutely still.  The machine (I'm sure it has a much more elegant name) is programed to fire beams of radiation in seven different locations designed to torment the tumors.

The good news is that the process doesn't seem to be tormenting Sherry too much at this juncture.

We wish the tumors a hard knock life!

Playing for Change

Last night we watched and listened to a DVD that definitely falls into the wonderful category in this blog.

For the last four years a small film crew has been travelling the world with recording equipment and cameras in search of inspiration. They traveled from streets and subways to Native American reservations, through African towns and villages, up to the Himalayan Mountains, and beyond. Throughout this journey they created a movement connecting the world through music. The album, “Playing for Change” is a collective statement from over 100 musicians spanning five continents. Many of the musicians have not met in person, but through their different cultures, the songs on the album that were mixed in the studio demonstrate a profound human connection and willingness to unite.

The title is a double entendre. Many of the musicians are street musicians who are literally playing for spare change. One of the most moving songs for us was Bob Marley’s “One Love.” That is the greater change celebrated in the songs and spirit of the album.

Tipping the Scale

Sherry’s weekly weigh in confirmed that she has turned the corner on weight loss. I don’t know if it was the Madjool dates, the gourmet macaroons, cookies, pie, protein powder, or Sherry’s voracious appetite driven by steroids. Likely, it was a combination of all of the above and so much more. Now we are going to make sure that the rebound doesn’t bounce too high. I believe there is a bit of an “Urban Legend” phenomenon that buzzes around the Cancer Center waiting area. So, I don’t know if the story about the guy who gained 40 pounds in two weeks is credible. Credible or not it does give Sherry pause; not enough pause to restrain her incredible appetite. The delicate balance here will be between the weights on the Cancer Center scale.
Wednesday will mark Sherry’s fifteenth radiation treatment. She is scheduled for 30 sessions. We will celebrate the halfway point even though we’re not sure if it will end up being halfway. The follow up to our current round of radiation, chemo, and Avastin treatments will be determined when we get to the end of it.

Today we have physical therapy this morning, and then we have two hours open until radiation therapy. The bright day beckons. We voted absentee so our polling place won’t need to be a stop. We could visit Midtown and enjoy the work there that makes it so inviting. We love the bike racks, the kiosks, and the benches. We could visit City Park or a number of the other attractive and interesting parks in our city. We could visit the Library, always an uplifting experience. Tubbs Hill would be too much for Sherry to navigate at this point. That will be a goal for another day. What I know for sure is we live in a great place where the streets get repaired, the snow gets plowed, our community college enriches us fiscally, culturally, and intellectually, and the police and fire fighters respond when they are called.

After radiation the day plan is more defined. After I make us mushroom omelets for lunch, I will plant the peony tulips that my sister, Marla, and her husband, Steve, sent to us. Some pruning may also be in the picture if I listen to the pear trees. I also want to move a couple of our rose bushes to sunny locations that should make them happier. The garden always has things for me to do; things that I like to do. Sherry will read and rest after the rigors of physical therapy. She will also wear her headphones while tilted back in the recliner to listen to favorite music.

Tonight we have a fresh Netflix film to watch.

The day promises to be rich and full. We will rejoice and be glad in it.

Permanent

Seven days since I posted my last blog entry.  It’s not that the the days haven’t been eventful.  It’s that I have allowed the events to fill the time I had been using to write blog entries. 

I have been making jelly.  I have several reasons for doing this.  Functionally, I needed to make room in our freezer.   To accomplish that I removed all of the containers of boysenberry, raspberry, blackberry, and quince juice that I had accumulated over the summer.  I mixed much of the boysenberry, raspberry, and blackberry juice together to make Brambleberry Jelly.  I had enough raspberry juice gathered from this banner raspberry year to make several batches of Raspberry Jelly.  Then there was the quince juice extracted from a large basket of quince I picked last week.  From it I made Quince Jelly, and two large batches of membrillo, a quince paste popular in Spain and delicious with a sharp cheddar cheese.  There are no new blog entries, but there are now six cases of jelly as well as more room in our freezer, which is to say I can now close the door.

Another reason has to do with taking care of our garden and the wonders it produces.  Our garden in a generative act that Sherry and I share.  The liturgy of season is marked by sharing events such as the Spring showing of the magenta rhubarb shoots, or celebrating the first ripe tomato.  Picking the berries and the quince are in there, too.  Fully utilizing  the produce completes the circle and honors our cogeneration, and it is a way of sustaining the goodness of the garden.

Probably the best reason is that I can.  Today was the second day Sherry didn’t wear her gait belt--the one that snugs around her waist that I hold onto while she is on her feet to prevent falls.  She is getting around the house independently.  I still don’t think it would be a good idea for me to leave her alone, but I am more free to focus on other household tasks without interruption.  So, I stirred my bubbling jelly with abandon.

The other change, as predicted, is that Sherry is beginning to lose her hair.  She leaves silver strands behind her like the tail of a comet.  I put a glass container with a lid on it in the bathroom to store the hair I pull out of the bristle brush Sherry uses every morning.  We  plan to put the hair out for the birds in the Spring so they can use it in making their nests.  

Word among the radiation veterans is that hair loss happens around the  thirteenth session.  Sherry completed session twelve on Friday, and thirteen is scheduled for tomorrow.  She appears to be right on schedule.  Her radiologist on Thursday told Sherry that her hair loss would be permanent.  We got real excited about that.  Wow!  Permanent!  That sounds like a long time--just what we have been hoping for!  Celebrate!  On every count collateral hair loss while bombarding tumors is the better choice.  As for me, I love Sherry’s hair, but I don’t love her for her hair. 

Cheryll, my sister, sent me the following Wendell Berry words last week:

“Whatever happens

Those who have learned to love one another

Have made their way to a lasting world

   and will not leave

Whatever happens”

I believe this is the kind of permanent we are seeking...