I’ve started a couple of more interesting posts, but not finished them, and then this crossed my radar. I posted a link to the book when it came out. Now, Samuel L. Jackson reads it.
I wish the book had been around when I was dealing with this bullsh*t. Parenthood in reality is so different from the way “they” say it will be.
I’m going to spend some time with my family now that school is out. I’ll start posting again around mid-June.
Have a wonderful Memorial Day.
Last week I got a delivery of three pallets of retaining wall concrete bricks and a pallet of Oklahoma 2″ flagstone. We’re going to build a very small retaining wall and lay down a level flagstone path along the slope below the deck in our yard. The slope is steep enough that without countermeasures, erosion will be a problem; already, the concrete footers of our deck are becoming exposed.
This weekend, Chris in superman mode laid in the concrete bricks for a large section of the wall. We haven’t filled it in yet, but two thunderstorms later, the work shows results: after the deluge, our garden steps are no longer covered in sand eroded from underneath the deck. Finishing the job will take a good part of the rest of the summer, but it’s a great start. I suspect, though, that the fun part of the job is almost over.
The hard part is going to be when I’ve filled it in and the soil sinks down and I have to add two or three or more bags of garden soil, for the fifth time. The hard part is going to be figuring out how and where to lay down flagstone to make steps leading down the slope in front of the deck. The hard part is going to be when something we’ve planned on doesn’t work the way we thought it would, and we have to figure out what went wrong, why it went wrong, and how we can fix it.
It’s why the deck was built the way it was, and why it was left not-quite-finished when the previous owners sold us our beautiful house and relocated out of Dallas to cooler climes. There’s not an easy solution: the deck is great, but unfinished, and the work that remains is neither straightforward nor obvious.
It’s why they say the hardest part of any job is the last five percent. Five percent of the deck remains to be finished. I know after a few weeks, five percent of that five percent will plague us. It always does.
The lovely people who we bought our house from described themselves to me as “not gardeners.” After six months of working outdoors, the yard looks great, but it is still 95% grass and five percent dirt and weeds.
We’ve lived in our new house for ten months now and I still haven’t gussied up the bedrooms. There are still squares of paint colors to choose on the walls of both Chris’s and my unpainted offices. I have one junk drawer in the kitchen, and one box of stuff in my office yet to unpack. Five percent of the work of of moving in remains unfinished.
My children are 95% polite, and when they bathe themselves, they are 95% clean.
On a good day I feel 95% recovered from cancer.
Cancer aside, I’m 95% funny and 95% a good friend and 95% a good wife and mother.
I used to be so good at the last five percent of life. It used to be the fun part, the drive to perfection, the polish on the polish. The finishing.
It’s not that way any more for me. I don’t know whether it’s motherhood or cancer, but then I remember way back to high school and college when I was such a complete and total screw up, and I say to myself, “Self, I know you! You’re the person who turns in papers in the nick of time, with no time to proofread. The person who leaves the dorm room uncleaned. The person who leaves bills unpaid, phone calls unanswered, thank you notes unsent, and dishes in the sink,” and I say to myself, “Self, you learned not to do that kind of stuff the first time around. Get with the program.”
This morning, instead of doing housework, I met up with some good girlfriends. Conversation worked its way around to the giving of advice, and the frustration we all, all of us, feel when we can see so clearly what someone we care about needs to do to fix a problem, get with the program, and we offer sound advice only to be met with a brick wall.
“We could solve so many problems for people if they would just take our advice,” lamented my friend C.J.
“We could,” I told her. “But the thing is, we could solve our own problems too, if we could just separate ourselves from our problems for a second and think, ‘What advice would we give someone in our shoes?’ and then take our own advice.”
I need to do a better job with the details. I need to work on the last five percent. I need to give each of these blog posts more time to sit, waiting for a final polish and a thorough proofreading before I hit “publish.”
I need to remember to put on jewelry.
I need to brush my kids’ hair and tuck in their shirts in the morning, and inspect their rooms before they go to bed, and I need to check to make sure they’ve brushed their teeth thoroughly morning and evening and whenever in between I tell them, “Go brush your teeth.”
I need to stop leaving dishes in the sink.
It’s going to be hard as all get-out to seize back the last five percent of my life, but I think I need to do it in order to feel 100% recovered from cancer.
Yesterday was the day. I’ve been tempted to spirit the kids out of the house, leaving three little piles of clothing as a joke for Chris, but I have found the hard way that jokes of that ilk are better in concept than in execution, and I’m not going to include my children in this nonsense anyway.
When Ellen White had her prophetic vision of Christ’s second coming in the nineteenth century, the word was spread through word of mouth and print. This time around, it’s a global movement. For most people, from what I can tell, it’s funny, this the end-of-the-world buzz, but with all the bad news flying around the airwaves and interwebs, a little levity is a good thing.
Apocalypticism isn’t just the province of a couple of protestant denominations; end-of-the-world predictions have always been with us. The apocalypse is regular player in science fiction, occasionally used to great literary effect. It’s a staple of New Yorker cartoons; a search on Cartoonbank.com for “end of the world” yields 674 results, all hilarious. The end of the world prompts us to self-evaluate and focus on our priorities: Repent.
Or think about repenting, but don’t do anything besides resolve to do better, and then lapse into our same old routine.
It’s easy to get all worked up about the end of the world when it’s imminent, and beyond our control. We’re absolved of any responsibility. It’s not our fault.
It’s a fun distraction, and it’s great fodder for comedy, but it’s also 100% wrong.
Er, make that 50% wrong, because the end of the world is coming, for all of us, as surely as taxes. Within eight decades, the vast majority of people who read this blog, including me and probably my children, will be pushing up daisies.
Death may seem a lifetime away, but if you ever have the privilege, as I have had, to talk to someone who has lived a long, full life about death and dying, you will find out that it’s not long, after all. Whether or not doomsday comes yesterday, or next winter, or not at all, the truth remains that our time on this earth is short.
It’s an uncomfortable truth, and we joke about it and we duck the subject and shroud it with taboo, but at some point, all of us will embark on the next great adventure, and it’s an easier passage if we can set off with fewer regrets, with relationships healed, and with amends made.
So repent.
Or just eat some cars.
Sometimes, I’m quiet.
Here’s what I’m thinking, and not saying.
Person: Hey, can I ask you something? I just found out that my [aunt, mother, best friend, neighbor] has breast cancer. Do you have any advice?
Me: I’m really sorry to hear that.
Person: Thank you. Evidently, it has already spread to her liver and her bones. She’s going to have very aggressive treatment. Do you have any advice?
Me: I’m really sorry to hear that.
Person: Yeah, it’s really bad. Her prognosis is not good, but they’re going to give it all they’ve got. Do you have any advice?
Me: I’m really sorry to hear that.
She should make out a will and give away all her stuff and throw away what no one wants so that her kids and husband don’t have to go through 25 years of polyester fashion mistakes, old Southern Living magazines and yard sale treasures.
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Person: Wow, you had cancer?
Me: Yeah. Bad luck. But I’m over it.
Person: Wow, you had cancer. That’s like, serious.
Me: Yeah. Bad luck. But I’m over it.
Person: So, does it run in your family?
Me: No, I just had bad luck.
Cancer randomly strikes and there is no reason it won’t strike you. Stop looking for reasons that I got it and you didn’t. If you want to lower your cancer risk then stop eating so much trash and get some exercise.
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Person: Hey, I know you had cancer, and a person with facial tattos and emo ear piercings at the local health food store said this $60 supplement was good for cancer, so I bought you some. You stir it into your tea three times a day. She said it totally cured her mom.
Me: Thank you.
Person: Here, let me put some tea water on to boil. You can have it right now!
Me: Thank you, I would love some tea. Let me discuss that supplement with my doctor. It was kind of you to give it to me.
Person: But it cured her mother’s cancer. You should have some right now.
Me: Thank you. It was very kind of you to think of me.
Did you know that most cancer patients die of malnutrition? Were you listening when I told you I am so nauseated I can’t see straight? I can guarantee that your supplement will have me puking up the soles of my feet. If I drink it I will probably have to go to the emergency room for IV fluids where I will likely pick up a case of MRSA and die. Please go away.
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Person: You should get out more.
Me: I enjoy doing stuff at home.
Person: But there’s all kinds of wonderful stuff to do!
Me: I enjoy doing stuff at home.
Person: Are you sure you’re not depressed? You should talk to your doctor about antidepressants.
Me: No, I just enjoy doing stuff at home.
I’m probably going to die a horrible death, decades earlier than you are. I don’t want to waste the time I have left doing stuff I hate when I can enjoy doing stuff at home. I get out plenty, but your idea of a good time at [crowded and loud event] will only make me wish I had stayed home where it is quiet and peaceful.
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Person: Hey how are you doing?
Me: Great, thanks! How are you?
Person: No, I mean with your tests and everything. Is everything still okay?
Me: Yep. Still doing great, thanks! How are you?
Person: So, your cancer. Definitely gone?
Me: Yep, doing great. How are you?
Well, my cancer returned. It’s aggressive and really advanced, and guess what? I have this rare form of recurrence — super contagious. I’m like a walking cancer Hot Zone… ACHOO!
This evening, I was in the brand-new Pawley’s Island Hammock that Chris and the kids gave me for Mother’s Day when I noticed the air was full of bats. I could hear them chirping, and I could see them swooping around just under the canopy of mature elm trees in our yard and creek bed. I think we might have bats living in the dead tree at the bottom of our creek bed, nestled in behind the bark.
I called Chris and the kids to come watch bats with me. Chris and Georgia sat and watched them while Graham, who happened to be wearing his batman pajamas, swooped around being a bat.
I’m a terrible scientist — I’m tempted to fudge my lab results to be what they should be, if my lab technique weren’t so terrible. And my lab results are not what they should be because I do things like sneeze in my sample, and record it in my lab book.
But at least I’m not a bad scientist.
What’s the difference?
Respect for the scientific method, for one thing.
Disengaging from paranoid conspiracies is another. I’m not even going to link to them, but if you google “There’s a cure for cancer but they don’t want you to know about it” you will get plenty of reading — and people really believe this stuff. I’m not unsympathetic, but I think there is a degree of hubris in thinking that you know more than the best doctors who have spend decades researching cancer, just because you read a book or an article on the internet.
A day does not go by when someone does not send me something based on something they read, in a book, or on the internet, and of course we all know that if you read something on the internet, it must be true. A lot of people are going to read this statement and feel like I’ve punched them in the gut, but please don’t. I take all of your suggestions, except the ones that I get a mammogram, in the spirit in which they are given, and that is with love.
I also talk all of the suggestions I get over with my doctors, and since my doctors are the best doctors in the world, I feel confident that they know more about a particular theory than someone who has read it on the internet, or read a book about cancer.
After listening to the suggestions of the peanut gallery, and talking it over with my doctors, here is what I do. I eat a lot of curry with turmeric and with cayenne pepper. I eat a lot of mushrooms. I eat yogurt and kefir, and whole grains, and I don’t eat saturated fat. I eat all kinds of vegetables, especially tomatoes, and I’m fussy about the meat I eat. I don’t eat a lot of sugar, and I recently gave up coffee. Those are all good things for everyone to do, whether or not they have cancer.
Once in a while I’ll shell out for a glass of wheat grass juice, but I did that before I got cancer. That’s good for the employees of that mall juice stand, because it keeps them employed.
I take calcium and vitamin D, because my doctors told me too. I do not take massive amounts of vitamin C or A because of the studies that show a higher incidence of cancer recurrence in patients who did that, and I don’t take multivitamins because they make me feel nauseated.
I do yoga and I meditate and I walk and I would do tai chi or qigong if there were a local cheap class that met during the day, and if I could keep from giggling.
I don’t buy into any theory at all that falls under the category of paranoid.
I read the literature, and I maintain this blog, and I have a couple of links on this topic below: Quackwatch and Science Based Medicine, if you want to read more about good science versus bad.
I don’t spend my life worrying about “what if my cancer comes back.”
I do spend an inordinate amount of time explaining to strangers and friends what the harm is in promoting and repeating questionable cures for cancer.
It’s this.
When cancer patients spend their time and money chasing a miracle cure, they’re not spending their time and money getting better. Cancer is tremendously expensive, and people have repeatedly shown that they are ready to spend their last dollar and go into massive debt chasing a miracle cure. Then the patient dies anyway, and the family is thrown into poverty. That’s harmful.
People believe that <whatever> will cure them, and they don’t take the time to do the things they ought to, like heal relationships, and say goodbye properly. I have a friend who died of cancer, and she believed right up until just before the end that she would be cured because her astrologist told her she would be cured, and during the last days, she was consumed with grief and regret at not having done what she would have done had she known she was dying. That’s harmful.
People don’t want to go through the “inconvenience” of conventional cancer treatment — they don’t want to loose their hair, or their breasts, or their nose, or their legs, and so they trust to false promises, and they die when they might have lived. That’s harmful.
And all the time, the people who promote these false cancer cures get rich on the fears of others. That’s not only harmful; it’s a crime, and when the evidence is strong enough, they go to jail for fraud.
I’m not saying that so-called “alternative” treatments do not have some merit. At the very least, there is the placebo effect. And a lot of it, such as good nutrition, yoga, massage, and meditation is good for everyone whether they have cancer or not.
I’m talking about the industry that falls under the category of disparaging the treatments for cancer that are widely accepted by the medical profession, vilifying the professional itself, and presenting their own “miracle cures” as a viable option. Faugh.
It leaves a bad taste in my mouth, and I know from bad.
I’ve been following the debate in Congress on immigration reform. I can’t even put how I feel about it into words just now, so I’m borrowing Neil Diamond’s.
Stella: WHAT WONDERFUL THINGS! THEY SMELL LIKE YOUR FEET AND THEY FEEL SQUISHY IN MY MOUTH!!
Me: Where is my other Croc?
Chris: Your Crocs are all over the yard.
Me: Stella hides them and then finds them.
What Chris does not say: and you bought those hideous shoes and paid money for them and now you’re not even taking care of them, but are letting the dog use them as toys.
Chris: . . .
Me: It’s cold out anyway. I’ll deal with it when the weather warms up.
Me: Oh, look! There are my Crocs! They are neatly placed by the back door and FILTHY!
Chris: . . .
Stella: Ooh I love you so much. And I love your Crocs! They smell like your feet!
I think about washing the Crocs in the washing machine or the dishwasher and decide I need to use the hose. The Crocs sit there for weeks.
Last weekend, I was using the hose anyway and it was warm and I was feeling brave so I hosed down the Crocs and inspected them.
One tiny tooth mark that might be a tear from something else.
I don’t care if they are a fad and I don’t care if they are hideous. Those shoes are extremely functional.
Stella has given up.
Crocs: 1, Stella: 0.
Dance with the Reaper 