Better Than the Obligatory Thanksgiving Post

In which our Lady is Sincerely Grateful.

Facebook has people who go all through the month of November and up until Turkey Day with incredible gratitude.  Every day they post something for which they are thankful.  I’d like to think that I have at least as much to be thankful for as them, but I am unwilling to get on Facebook every day.  So, although I could give you a list of exactly 22 one-liners, I will here do something a little different.  By the way, I mean no disrespect for those admirable facebookers who…one-line.  After all, they are my inspiration today.  Okay, so here goes:

Thanks to all the people that are constantly thinking of me and helping me out.  You know who you are and FYI I hope to get actual Thank-you cards mailed out someday.  Meanwhile I will shout my gratitude out to the universe.

There are those who support me physically—thank you for making me food and providing the occasional child care.  These people drive both me and my child places when I cannot.  They open cans and tie knots when my hands get all weak and shaky.  They teach my child and nurture her when I am weary—just so weary of doing it all.  There are so many of these supporters.  The best word to describe them is simply this: they are GOOD.  (As in “God created the world and it was good….”)

We move then to the emotional/mental/spiritual support.  There are those who share various parts of my malady and who are open with me about what they are going through.  Because of their empathy and candidness I learn from them.  Many are those who lead by example in addition to actually guiding me into spiritually uplifting situations when I can’t seem to find true north.  There are those who listen to me when I’m down, and who deal with my insanities while never making me feel dumb.  I know I’m not driving at full throttle (is this even a commonly-used phrase?), but people are mostly kind to me about that.  I realize that I often exhibit stupidity/slowness/incompetence/Valley-girl brainlessness.  It can be really humiliating when I am the object of a joke that I don’t even fully understand.  I tell you now that KINDNESS is a priceless gift.

As I read back over what I have just written, I realize that my husband exhibits all of the goodness and kindness addressed here, in all its finite detail.  You know, when I was lookin’ for a man back at good ol’ BYU, I picked out kindness as one of the top three qualities on my I-could-date-this-guy list.  And so, finally, I come to another point of gratitude, I am so glad I found Jon. 

 

 

Epidemic Proportions

In which our Heroine is Glad to be over a few Hurdles. 

Three days ago, my brother Mike called me and told me of a good friend of his who has been diagnosed with cancer.  It is a very advanced stage of thyroid cancer in a 38 year old woman.  Two days ago my mother told me of a member of our extended family who has a very terminal cancer.  One day ago my friend Marel called to tell me about—I don’t know—ten people she knows who have recently come down with cancer.  For instance, her 23 year old brother in law just had surgery to remove cancer from his bladder, of all things.  Twenty-three???  Unbelievable.

Marel’s uncle, a very cool man who used to travel the European continent playing in rock bands, has been diagnosed with brain cancer—what those familiar with the disease call a glioma (basically, that means REALLY BAD—a grade 4 terminal brain cancer).  Apparently, he’d had some seizures and his friends forced/tricked him into going to the ER.  I assume he did this with little grace as he is accustomed to living “off the grid.”  A few months ago when Marel told him about her friend that had brain cancer, he wrote some beautiful words to her about how it can make you stronger and that it can really improve your creative capacities as an artist.  (At least, this is what she claims.  She forgot to send the actual letter to me).  Anyway, in response to his current problem, Marel basically sent his letter back to him.  In what is possibly the worst case of tragic irony ever, I hope his own words give him comfort. 

Also, Marel has a cousin who has just had her second child and has breast cancer.  This is so sad to have such a recent addition to the family and yet to be plagued with cancer.  Marel knows of several other women who have had this problem.  These developments make me feel very uncertain about the medical field at large because my understanding was that a woman who has nursed babies has little chance of getting breast cancer.  Shockingly, she is currently nursing her second child and has breast cancer!!!  Also unbelievable. 

Dear Marel,

When you called yesterday to tell me congratulations on my good news, I assumed the conversation would be a normal one—heartfelt and fuzzy, but ultimately not a very impactful message.  I was wrong.  Like all good scholars, you proved your point by providing excellent reasons, examples, and support material.  You’re right that I am very blessed to be at my current stage of recovery.  As I said in my writings before, I feel like I have been privileged to be on the fast-track learning program.  I am so glad that I am past the initial stages of shock/horror, surgery recovery, and the emotional strain of knowing my days are very numbered.  Spring is almost here in Alaska, the sun is shining, and it is all rainbows and green pastures from here as far as I can tell.

Your friend in good health,

T

It just seems to me that there is an influx of cancer recently—affecting people younger and healthier than ever.  In my mind, a little bar graph shows improbable cancers reaching epidemic proportions.  Is this my imagination, or does anyone else see this trend? 

Don't Leave

In which our Lady’s Mother-in-law Flies in from “The Lower 48.”

Dear Mother-in-Law Dianne,

Please don’t ever leave me again.  I will admit that my reasons are mostly selfish.  For the last month and a half of your Christmas vacation, I have had to beg for rides from people all over this side of town.  People are willing, but I am so tired of asking.  The last few weeks, I decided to quit asking and I just stayed home all day long every day.  BOR.ING.  I am also very tired of having no relief from my child.  She’s cute, but she gets antsy when she can’t leave the house.  Oh, and have I told you yet that after you left  Eva would periodically run up to the door whenever she heard a sound outside and expectantly say “Grammy?”  Apparently, I just don’t cut it.  But for now I will push my jealousy aside and express gratitude for your willingness to do so much for my family.  Please, don’t leave for the rest of winter. I may die in your absence, if my daughter doesn’t expire first.

Beseechingly yours,

Tara

P.S. Thanks for driving me to my hair-cut appointment tomorrow morning at 11:30.  I’ll see you here at 11:20?

The Brain that Changes Itself

In which our Heroine—dum, da, dum—reads. 

Every so often I get really tired.  I don’t think its just the Keppra.  Yesterday was one of those days.  I can’t figure it out.  Why these periodic bouts of severe exhaustion?  And of course, every time I have one of those days, I consequently find myself forgetting how healthy I really am and feeling a bit sorry for myself.  I believe the exact word for how I feel is beleaguered—conjuring up a sense of overly heavy drama.

Fortunately, I picked up a book from the library entitled The Brain that Changes Itself by Norman Doidge, M.D. that has served to push back against my incredible ingratitude and put things in perspective.  Out of the 400 pages or so of “stories of personal triumph from the frontiers of brain science” I have read exactly 4.  They document the story of a woman’s brain cancer, surgery, and then recovery.  Her story was eerily familiar to my own, except that her “miraculous” recovery is nothing compared to mine. 

Nicole was 33.  Her tumor was a glioma—the worst kind (as opposed to my much better type).  She was told she had 3-9 months to live.  It was pronounced inoperable and that her only hope of staying alive was to have the most intense doses of radiation, the most a human being can tolerate.  But forget the radiation, the steroids to prevent brain swelling were of such high dosage that she could have died from those alone.  Since her tumor was on the left side of her brain, she had severe speech problems.  Like me, she found herself paralyzed on one side of her body—though not the left, but the right (and yes, she is right-handed)—because of a side effect of the radiation.  When she speaks of not being able to turn or move in bed because of the partial paralysis, I remember how it feels.  But from there the story differs drastically from my own.  She lost her hair and gained not a meager ten pounds like me, but 65 from the inactivity and the steroids.  She became depressed.  (Yeah, no kidding). 

After about 3 years of this paralysis, Nicole was admitted into a specialized clinic.  For 2 weeks she was forced to do strange things, like wear an oven mitt on her left hand in an effort to force her to use the right.  She would be stationed in front of play dough and relearn how to use a fork.  She learned how to button her own shirts again.  Her brain changed.  It regrew itself, relearned how to do things on the right side.  Nicole regained confidence in her abilities and a positive attitude.  She got a job again (just in time to help cover 9/11 at CNN New York) and moved out of her parent’s house.  She is known for her wimpy hand-shake, but she gives it gladly anyway. 

Wow, my cancerous life is awesome compared to hers.  I have happily been able to stay home and use regular physical therapy to regain functions of my body that I lost for what—a whole 2-3 weeks, in comparison to her 3 years—such a time period I can’t even imagine living through in those cirumstances. 

I can’t quite recommend a book of which I’ve only read four pages, but as I flip through it and feel the gentle swoosh of the pages underneath my finger tips, I feel a sense of promise.  I’ll let you know.  I will say that it has already done some good, if only because it has reminded me to be positive and grateful on a tired day.

Oh, to be Caroline

In which our Lady relives Life on the Prairie. 

I recently listened to the audio book Little House on the Prairie.  I’m pretty sure I read this as a grade-schooler, but it was a whole new book as an adult.  Here are some thoughts I had as I read:

1.       Wow.  They are really grateful for a teensy house with a rough wood floor.  And apparently window glass is not a necessity, but a luxury.  Lesson in gratitude, anyone?

2.       At the end of the book, Laura sees a “papoose,” begins sobbing, and tells her parents that she wants ‘it’.  Their response is as expected: how ridiculous, that papoose has a mommy and it should stay with her.  And Laura is scolded.  It is obvious that there is a symmetry here in the story, a comparison with the white pioneers taking over Indian territory.  In the beginning of the book I worried that it there wouldn’t be any commentary, or even acknowledgement of these big issues.  I am pleased that there is indeed acknowledgement, but also relieved that the author doesn’t linger on the topic or dredge up guilt.  Instead, she just states how it was and how they dealt with it, letting the commentary exist somewhere in the undefined space between words. 

3.       I was impressed by the incredible obedience Mary and Laura had for their parents.  There is one spot where Charles the father says, “Girls, did you even think about disobeying me?”  Of course they had, and they actually admitted it.  The consequences would have been dire (Indian War, etc…) but I found their amount of respect and deference astonishing.  I can’t remember the last time I saw a kid act like that—and it’s not like Charles was beating these little girls into submission or anything either.  We may not have Indian raids to worry about today, but I doubt the danger is any less for children today—maybe even worse.  I find myself wondering how to get Eva to understand obedience better.

4.       I spent the first half wishing for a little more feminism on Caroline (the mother’s) behalf.  Her harshest comment to her husband upon him moving her away from her extended family and comfortable home in “the big woods” was, “Oh, Charles…”  Gee whiz Caroline.  Is that all you have to say?

5.       The last half of the book it finally occurred to me that Caroline really loved her husband, Charles, and would do almost anything for him because of that profound love.  Also, it was plain by then that Charles was an excellent husband and father.   My conclusion is that a person will go through a lot for their spouse because their love will lend them strength and drive them on.  I think of my husband Jon and all he’s had to go through in the past months.  None of it was pleasant, but he bowed his head and swam with the current the best he could.  Again, we don’t have Indian raids to worry about, but are the struggles any less real?  What if Caroline had destroyed her husband’s dreams with harsh words?  What if she had decided the sacrifice of staying with him wasn’t worth it?  What good would it have done?  What if Jon had gotten fed up with me when I was on too many medications and a little crazy from brain swelling?  What if he’d decided the sacrifice of living in new (cancerous) territory wasn’t worth it?  So, here’s to all the ‘Caroline’s’ in the world.  Often ignored, but essential to any successful pioneering venture.    

The Christmas Cancer

In which Our Lady figures out the Limitations of Cancer.

There’s something about Christmas that brings out the best emotions.  It was a few hours ago while watching the LDS broadcast of the Christmas Devotional that I felt an overwhelming sense of peace and contentment.  The giant projector screen hung down at the front of the chapel showed a beautiful display of Christmas trees and lights.  I heard wonderful messages of Christmas joy and holiday giving from members of the First Presidency.  And each of them personally testified of the wonderful miracle of our Savior’s Christmas birth.  I was sitting between my husband and my in-laws, with Eva playing contentedly on her Grammy’s lap and listening to the most gorgeous Mormon Tabernacle Choir songs when I felt that rush of warm gratitude for the things I have.  How blessed to sit with good family hearing about the birth of Jesus Christ through beautiful music.  Regardless of how things go at the Doctor’s office tomorrow, I am glad to have these moments.  And I realized tonight that whether or not I do cancer treatments will little affect the fact that I get to celebrate Christmas.  The anxiety I have felt over the last several weeks, and the possible trials of the upcoming weeks cannot, should not, and will not ruin my Christmas.  It’s comforting to realize that I at least have this.  However much power I imagine cancer to have over my life, it cannot take Christmas away.  My truth of the day: Cancer exerts no control whatsoever over either natural forces or national holidays. 

I've Never Seen the Northern Lights

In which our Lady of the Skies looks upward

                Tonight, I froze my toosh off standing outside my house and looking up at the sky.  The clouds were so beautiful that for the first few seconds I actually thought they might be the northern lights, but there was no color to them other than what they reflected back of the city lights, and after a minute I could see them moving with the wind.  The evenings are finally dark here in Alaska.  Over my head the clouds looked similar to spidery cobwebs—like the fake kind people use to decorate on Halloween.  How fitting for the evening, it being All Hallows Eve and all.  Farther away they began to look like the frothy waves of the ocean, complete with spume and spray, as well as the dark underbelly of a few larger waves.  Mysterious creatures dwell beneath those kind of waves.  Then they drifted and transformed into dry sand dunes during a dust storm (as seen in movies, of course, when the hero must protect a beautiful woman by shielding her body under his cloak as they hug the side of a cuddly camel).  Dust streaked from the tops of the mounds as the wind whistled over the distant landscape of dunes.  I could almost smell the dryness wafting over from the clouds into Anchorage’s brittle, sharp, and cuttingly cold stillness.  I shivered deeper into the cocooning warmth of my coat and boots and knew gratitude for the gift of the perfect view from my house here in this specific time and place.  Someday I will finally see the Northern Lights, but until then, I will be content to contemplate vistas of spider silk, stormy sea and baked sand. 

Ten Things for Which to Live

In which our Heroine expressed Gratitude, and not necessarily in order.

1.       I am grateful to be alive.  We had yet another earthquake up here a few weeks ago.  I know it is ridiculous after all that I’ve been through, but a primal terror gripped me as the house shook.  It does every time.  How can I still fear death even though I’ve been so close?  I know it is not my time to die, and I know that there is an afterlife and that things will be okay.  Yet I still feel that primeval panic.  I don’t know why I still feel so frightened at a mere earthquake—these do happen all the time up here, after all.  The only thing I do understand about the whole thing is that I truly want to be alive and to do and experience more and more and more! 

2.       I am grateful to have a large base of family and friends.  I am an introvert at heart, but there is also a part of me that really likes knowing them all.  (That’s right—I mean you!) It is nice to know you.

3.        I am grateful for the sunshine. 

4.       I am grateful for my husband and my child.  They are precious to me.   

5.       I am grateful to belong to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  I know who I am and I know there is a plan for me and a purpose for everything in my life.  It gives me strength.

6.       I am grateful for a warm home on a chilly night.

7.       I am grateful for all five of my senses.  Isn’t it nice that food—something we have to eat to stay alive—tastes good?

8.       I am grateful that I can use my left arm.  I express here my fondness for its individual awesomeness. 

9.       I am grateful for good music, books, and artwork.  It makes living so zesty.

10.   I am grateful for opportunities to serve others, touch their lives, and hopefully make a difference.  I’m with Emily Dickinson:

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

 

Angels the Fifth: the Christmas House

In which our Lady Gratefully welcomes an Honored Guest into her Home

Last night I had the rare privilege of welcoming my Stake Relief Society President and the wife of our area authority—here for Stake Conference this weekend—into my home for a brief visit.  She is one of those genuinely lovely women who holds an incredible awareness of the good she can do.  She is filled with sunshine and the kind of good smells and hominess that accompany Thanksgiving and Christmas, but without the sense of lethargy that follows Thanksgiving dinner.  On the contrary, our home was alive with the lightning-quick thinking and comforting sharpness that accompanies the Holy Ghost. 

The call ran much like a Visiting Teaching appointment, they asking me to flesh out my recent experiences, with Sister S— sharing a message largely on gratitude.  If I were to sum the message up: The Lord has things in hand and is waiting to bless us, but we need to acknowledge His hand first to allow those blessings to come.  Yes.  I’d already been thinking about this concept a little, and enjoyed getting her very wise take on it. 

It felt good in my home last night.  Of course we’d cleaned the place well, but it was much more than that.  My mind felt sharp—smarter than usual these tired days.  I felt at peace and there was an expansive sense of being loved.  The Spirit was present.  There was great peace pervading every corner of my house.  It swept around Eva’s toy corner, played lightly around the kitchen sink, hid underneath my couch, and even arched into the vaulted ceilings.  For a long time I’ve wanted what I will call “a Christmas house.” This is the place we all imagine spending Christmas Eve—surrounded by good food, tantalizing smells, warm colors, and your favorite people. 

At one point, this angelic woman paused and said there were angels present in our home.  It was a place they could dwell.  She should know.  I did not expect to write an Angels the V, but there it is.  Perhaps they wanted to be a part of the discussion.  Personally, I dislike watching a good conversation without being allowed to put in my own two cents worth of participation.  I wonder if they ever feel the same.  It has been a long time coming, but I hope my home has finally reached the ‘my-home-is-like-a-temple’ status, which I now realize matches my idea of the “Christmas House.”