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.    

Enduring to the End

In which our Lady endures. 

Late Tuesday night I made a grave mistake.  I popped in the CD containing my MRI images.  I was curious to see the latest news.  Unfortunately, I don’t know how to decipher the scans.  I was hoping to see a nice big black hole where my tumor had been and nothing more.  Much to my despair, I instead found cloudy white stuff all over the area.  Here are the images from my last two MRI’s: The first shows how ravaged my skull and how swollen my brain were right after the surgery, the second show Tuesday’s results: 

In my small experience, the lighter stuff usually either indicates bones or cancer, while the grey is my normal beautiful brain.  I know nothing for certain, but I have a lot of anxiety.  I hope it is useless anxiety, but I won’t be sure for another week.  Unfortunately, I have been experiencing a feeling of increased pressure and the occasional headache more often the past few weeks.  Is this from stress, or from cancer?  Whatever the case, it is easy to believe the worst.  With all of this uncertainty I find that all I can do is hope and then put into practice a particular kind of endurance. 

I begin to hate the phrase enduring to the end.  In LDS church and culture, it is used all the time.  It is this notion of fighting the ‘good fight’ until its all completely over and you’ve gained your heavenly reward.  It has a sense of heroism and nobility about it, though it is often used casually.  While growing up, I would envision the Mormon pioneers slowing making their way west in wagon trains, enduring as they walked and walked and walked all the way to the Great Salt Lake.  Of course, back then I idealistically believed that when they reached Utah the endurance was over and they found good times all around.  Never mind the years of hunger and toil that awaited them there. 

So here’s my thing.  This last week I’ve thought a lot about my current struggles—and they are just that—current.  I’m so tired of it NOT ending.  I never was one for distance running.  I much prefer dashing through the race in 100 meters.  Even before the MRI on Tuesday, I have had this sinking feeling that I’m not quite done yet with this cancer thing.  In fact, I look back on earlier blog posts and on the improbable optimism of the last few months and the terminology that comes to mind is “naively jubilant.” It all started with the revelation through my patriarchal blessing that I would “live a long and prosperous life.”  I do not doubt that this will be true.  But the naivety with which I assumed easier, even golden, times ahead (and ones that would soon cease) makes me cringe.  That is not what was promised in those few words. 

I face a new ME right now—one who is being changed, probably for the better, but not with my own volition.  I am losing aspects of myself that I prize due to the cancer and the surgery: my excellent short term memory, my quickness in conversation, my ability to throw things together successfully via energy, charisma, vitality, and a certain bit of good fortune.  In place I am getting other things, and they are good—but sometimes surprising.  For instance, some of these aspects may be increased spirituality, wisdom, or the dreaded ability to endure to the end.  Don’t get me wrong—these are good gifts.  I just didn’t understand that I would have to trade in some of the other good things to get the better.  I loved my ability to learn easily and quickly—it made things very easy for me.  To lose this gift of knowledge in order to gain the gift of wisdom is hard. 

And it is very clear to me that I do have some things to learn that will (hopefully) teach me wisdom.  For three days straight I thought non-stop about the concept of Good, Better, Best.  Basically, that there are a lot of things to do with your time, but some are better than others, and others are the Best.  These I should choose to do first every day, every time, if possible.  One of the things I need to work on is reading my Book of Mormon a lot more.  In fact, I had the strongest impression one day that although all of the organic research and eating was a very good thing to do, it would not lead me out of this illness.  Rather, it is reading the scriptures and attending the temple that will do so.  These are the things that are BEST.  

I’m learning that enduring to the end means not just getting to the end of an event, or even just lasting through it well.  It also means that I’ll have to change throughout the process.  It’s not where you end up, but who you are when you get there.