girl at large

I like to write about life when you have a job, some kids, a fixer upper and a fatal disease.

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  • You Are Not Entitled To My Life

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    “I’ll need you to be masked”

    “That’s ok you can wear a mask”

    “I know, but I also need you to wear a mask”

    “You need ME to wear a mask?”

    ”Yes”.

    ”We can talk about that back in my office”

    “I’m not meeting with anyone who's not masked, just like my email explained. I’m immune compromised, I’m a cancer patient”.

    “I’m a cancer survivor too. And I’ve already had it”

    “I’m in active treatment. Please wear a mask”

    ”It’s a pain”

    ”It’s my life”

    “Fine”. Asks receptionist for a mask.

    “The mask they gave me sucks, I’ll have to go to my car to get a better one.”

    “Ok, I’ll wait right here for you.”

    “Sorry but I despise masks”

     

    Thanks for valuing my life less than your mild discomfort.

  • When You’re Feeling Low, You Always Can Count on Pat

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    I was showing Mom today how my range of motion has been affected by radiation. Lifted my left arm well over my head, stretched it to touch my right ear, all good. Lifted my crooked right arm and it barely went above my shoulder…

    Mom: “You have to do something about that!”

    Yes, thanks mom.

     

    Some other recent Pat moments include:

    “You look less, you know, cancery.” As my hair was growing in.

    “Well it sounds like you have a ways to go”. When I was lamenting that I just wanted chemo to be over.

    “I’m not saying I’m making it up, but in my head…” I laughed so hard I forgot what this was actually about.

    “You look fine”. As I adjust to dressing flat, bought an entire new wardrobe and invested heavily in Sephora. Fine? Fine? 

    Oh Pat.

  • Little Consolation

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    This is Nibbles. He was lost yesterday, sometime between daycare and Nonna’s house, somewhere between backpacks and car seats and playrooms.

    I found him late at night, just in time to take bedtime from tears to tucks. 

    And that’s about the only thing I managed to feel good about this week. I’m feeling defeated. I’m in the last long stretch of active treatment, or so we presume, until the next scan reveals my future, if I have one. The chemolite™️ side effects are accumulating, making my energy sputter out by 2pm, and introducing a new hell of intense joint and muscle pain. Work is no longer the reliable escape it once was; as people leave for better jobs and the economy has fits and starts, it feels too precarious. And Covid is roaring back, making the recent brief joys once again scary and risky for me with my damaged immune system, and of course my kids are still vulnerable. 

    Most distressing, Paul’s Dad, Rocky, my children’s stalwart grandfather, died two weeks ago after suffering a year of congestive heart failure. I will write a tribute to Rocky another day, and it may be private. It’s not entirely my place. But I do want to share that we are grieving, and I’m struggling to help my kids understand.

    Sometimes it’s all overwhelming, and I just can’t do much more than scroll, or sleep, or cry. 

    Some nights, you are just inconsolable until Nibbles is back where he belongs.

  • Rebound

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    I was out at a customer visit this week, the first time in a long time. It’s still awkward, I’m rusty at my in person communication, especially with new clients. Of course some new clients are also rusty with their manners, but that’s another story.

    But my selling muscles will return, and now that demand is finally coming back too, the timing of my physical healing couldn’t be better. I am so grateful for that timing. Feeing physically better as the weather warmed up and being able to work as the office world wakes up has been a gift.

    Me and Milwaukee are on the rebound. Also, there’s some sort of sports thing going on.

  • Happy and Lucky

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    Felix is a name that stems from Latin meaning "happy" or "lucky".

    It is also the name my oldest son has chosen for himself. 

    We are so happy and lucky to be supported and surrounded by love; and to be the parents of the most stoic and hilarious straight-man kid you’ve ever met.

  • Clear Air

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    I snapped today. One of my cancer care team said “warrior” one too many times and I finally let them have it. As much as my squeaky, raw radiation laryngitis voice will let me anyway.

    I hate warrior/hero/battle culture. I am not any different than any other cancer patient. It’s all suffering. We all suffer. When someone just as “strong” as me dies, what does that say for the strength of their fight? The depth of their will? Nothing. Because it’s not a fair fight. Warriors choose to go to battle, heros are heroic because they choose to go in to danger when others shirk. No one chooses cancer.

    Give me the space to be weak. Just because I’m not crying in your office doesn’t mean I don’t cry in my car. Telling me Im strong because I’m “doing it all” while I’m in treatment? Ugh, it’s not strength, it’s reality. I still work because I have bills to pay. I still take care of my kids because they live in my damn house (LOL).

    Cancer don’t care. My doctor should.

  • The Growth That Doesn’t Kill You

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    Now that we can be social again, I get a lot of questions about my cancer. Some are kind, some are strange, most are simple enough—the basic how are you doing/feeling/coping. Once in awhile a query is profound. A very dear friend, with a talent for getting to the heart of the matter, especially when it’s your heart itself, asked “Has this experience changed how you relate with your father?”

    pow. In fact, it did. 

    My drive to treatment is about twenty minutes each way, thirty when I take the prettiest lake route. I enjoy it, and with the spare time I make speaker phone calls.

    Me: “Hey, Siri, call Dad”

    Siri: ”Sorry, you don’t have a Dad”

    Bwaaaaahaaa…. so, this experience has changed Robert to Dad in my phone and in my life.

     

    p.s. did I mention the friend is also my hair dresser? Skip the therapist, get your hair done.

     

  • Happy Happy Happy

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    You turn five tomorrow. Your arms and legs are thin and strong, your eyes are so round and large that in my dreams you often appear as an owl. A loud, slightly bossy owl.

    As every second born knows, you will be burdened with the story of being the baby, being the squawker, the pesky little brother. My hope for you is that you get to break free from that some day and write your own story.

    And it will be hilarious. The amount of energy you can summon to greet “morningtime!” is amazing, the house rings with your cheerful chatter. When you are excited, you get so animated that you literally pat your own legs with a little drum roll, as if your body cannot contain the feeling and it must be released. Charlie, you are the happiest being I have ever known. 

    And, as my mother says to me each year, I’m so glad I had you.

     

  • Burned

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    Which one of these is HOT honey? Trick question, they BOTH are!

    Eat a spoonful of honey the nurse said. I’m going to recommend eating straight honey the radiation oncologist said. Oh yes, you’ll have to do the honey trick the nurse navigator said. Even my own mother advised honey to sooth my sore and swollen throat, caused by radiation. Alright I’ll go for it I said…

    …to all the graphic designers everywhere, please for the love of god test your product labels in dim light, with a Gen Xer without their readers on.

  • Holding On To The Feeling

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    We have the Adirondack chairs, we have the greenery…can we hang on to the peaceful feeling? Our trip to Kentucky’s Shaker Village was four satisfying days of gorgeous scenery, fresh air, birdsong and heavenly biscuits.

    How can just one day back to treatment (daily radiation) and work frazzle me so quickly?! Deep breaths I remind myself, wistfully looking at my six hundred photos of rolling green hills, gravel pathways and spring light. Tonight I resolved to capture some of that feeling at home…

    ”Let’s eat healthier like we did on the trip” I say.

    “Sure, you make us honey peanut butter and fan the apples out fancy just like the restaurant!” the kids say…

     

    ps. Also, Charlie is back to being mostly naked.