A Perfect Winter Day

Winter in Canada is long, hard and cold – not for the faint of heart.  But once in awhile, a perfect winter day comes along. 

 

For me this day was February 17, Family Day.  We went to the Chateau Montebello on Sunday for one night.  After a scrumptious breakfast of maple butter crêpes and a long swim in the pool, we headed out to go tubing, which I have never done.  The thought of getting into a tire and being pushed down a hill scared me, but there didn’t seem to be any way I could get out of it – we had already checked out of our room, I didn’t have a book to read, I had already gone swimming, I couldn’t go skiing on my own, and everyone else wanted to do it.  I could stand around in the cold and watch everyone or just do it.  So I chose to just do it.

 

And, of my goodness, it was so much fun!

 

Picture this, a sky so blue to rival the Caribbean sky.  Little or no wind.  The perfect temperature.  Fresh fallen snow on the Ottawa River and all the hills around.  It was a beautiful day, like no other. 

 

I got into the tube and was pulled up by a lever, just like the kind for downhill skiing, which I also don’t do.  The kids, with their friends who were also on the trip, had already taken their turns and were self-sufficient.  At the top of the hill, I pulled my tube to the attendant at the top of the hill.  He told me how to get in it, as Jaime looked on, encouragingly.  He then gave me a gentle push, and down I went, the tube spinning, being pulled by gravity, the potential energy giving way to the motion.  It was the most exhilarating feeling I have ever felt. 

 

Up and down we went, for dozens of turns.  We went down the hills in pairs and groups, racing, and bumping and twirling and coasting. 

 

Finally, all tired out, we left the hill, admiring the golden sunshine of the day, the hills and river covered by the pristine snow, for another few minutes, before heading back.

 

I finally found something to distract me.  While I may not be able to go tubing every time I need a distraction, I will hold that image in my memory and remember the fun we had the next time I am in the doctor’s office, waiting.         

What the Body Remembers

As I face the one-year anniversary of my big, life-changing surgery, I find myself still unable to move on.  Though, in many ways, I have made great strides, I can't seem to move past one fundamental problem.  I continue to have various symptoms.  Some, the very same that led me to the hospital in December 2012.  These symptoms last for weeks and months.  Then go away.  Then something else comes up. 

I don't know if it is my mind or body playing tricks on me.  I don't know what to do with them.  Follow up on them, and I am considered to be a hypochondriac or crazy.  Ignore them - at my peril. 

I don't mean to complain or be ungrateful.  But I do mean to be honest.  And it is hard.  But writing about it helps. 

Beware of the "Are you crazy?" test question

This morning was a visit with a psychologist.  The same psychologist that I saw on the 7^th floor of the Ottawa General (my favourite place) a few weeks after my surgery.  At that time, she told me I had an anxiety disorder.  I really didn’t need another diagnosis then.  And I wanted to tell her that if she had just been diagnosed with cancer and had a tube sticking out of her, she might be a bit anxious herself.   She also told me to do some things like say the alphabet backwards and rock myself when I would feel anxious.  It didn’t really help, and I didn’t go back to see her.

 

At my last appointment with my specialist, though, a kindly nurse, talked to me afterwards and said, “Honey, I know how you feel. I had cancer 19 years ago, and I know what it’s like is to feel alone and not be able to think about anything else.”  She offered me an appointment with a psychologist.  I was hard pressed to say no.

 

Today, I reluctantly returned to the 7^th floor of the General to see the same psychologist. 

 

“What are you anxious about?” she asked me. 

 

“I am scared that my cancer will recur.”

 

“Do you believe that your cancer will recur?”  (This is the “Are you crazy?” question.  I recognized the tone from our last appointment.)

 

« No, I believe that my cancer could recur.” And I don’t hear voices talking to me, either.

 

I passed the test.  This time, she maintained that I don’t have an anxiety disorder and that I am, in fact, coping very well.  And it was nice to hear her say that it is normal for younger people (well, comparatively) with young children who have had cancer, even such an early stage one, to be more anxious.  And it was nice to be reminded that the probability of recurrence with such an early stage cancer is very low.  She said that the Ottawa General is liberal with the use of chemotherapy.  I would have been given it if my doctor hadn’t been confident.

 

“Would you buy a lottery ticket with 95 percent odds of winning?”

 

“Yes.”

 

So my odds are pretty good when I look at it that way. 

 

And she reminded me of the havoc that scar tissue has on your body, especially with such extensive surgery. 

 

So, in the end, it helped to have the visit, even though she went on 15 minutes longer than an hour, and I had to jump out of my seat when I realized the time since I had to get back to work and Jaime was waiting for me.

 

What kind of therapist goes on for longer than an hour?

 

Maybe one who cares.

Lessons from a Ski Trail

This Sunday, our kids’ski lessons were cancelled due to the cold so we went on a lovely family and friends ski on our own.  I think my healing path is similar to the cross country ski trail.  Even though it is cross country, there are some hills, though most are gentle.  It is easy, fun, fast and a little bit scary to let yourself go down the hills.  It is hard work and slow to go up the hills.  Sometimes you ski chatting with someone, and sometimes you ski alone.  Sometimes, the wind leaves you chilled and breathless.  After working hard enough, you feel warm and strong enough to keep going.  Sometimes you fall, and it is easy to get back up.  Other times, it is harder and you need someone’s help.  Sometimes, you ski in a loop and end up right back where you started.  Other times, you travel a great distance and end up somewhere new.  One way or other, you must find your way back home.

 

Today, I feel sad and out of sorts.  I’m not sure why after a great weekend.  Maybe I didn’t want the weekend to end. Maybe it is the cold and relentless winter.  Maybe because a cherished friend and someone I leaned on for strength will be gone.  Maybe because Amrita didn’t get into soccer and more than soccer, it means we won’t be with our friends.  Maybe because I still don’t trust and can’t interpret my body signals and I always fear that I am skiing a loop.  Maybe I am sad because even if I am skiing a trail that goes somewhere new, I’m worried that it is not the right direction.  And even if it is the right direction, right now, I miss some of the landscapes of youth and having your life ahead of you, like university and falling in love and having babies and choosing a career and the innocent, though maybe naïve, hope of great things to come. 

 

I know that many things are still ahead.  That the thrill of learning and loving and doing and changing don’t stop as you age.  And I want to age.  Really, I do, because I’ve already faced, at great length, the possibility of the alternative and that is a really tough place to be.  But still, there are moments when we all long for the past. 

 

And yet, we can only ever ski forward.     

Breezes Bella Costa

I have been trying to get used to being back to frigid temperatures - with freezing rain, flash freezes, and wind chill warnings – after a week in warm, sunny Cuba.  We returned in the wee hours of Sunday morning, considering ourselves lucky for not having been stranded in any airport or plane for hours or days as other travelers have been.

 

We had a lovely time in Cuba with warm, sunny days, the Caribbean sky so blue that you have never seen, the water emerald green and often calm, and palm trees gently swaying in the ocean breeze.  Like any Caribbean vacation, we swam in the ocean, built sand castles (winning 3rd place in the family sand castle competition), walked along the beach, swam in the pool, drank strawberry slushies (pĩna coladas for Jaime - I stayed away from the alcoholic drinks except couldn't resist the cervezas at lunch time at the beach restaurant) and ate far too much at the buffet for no particular reason.  In the evenings, since the entertainment started quite late for Aveen and Amrita, we would take a stroll in the garden and gaze up at the clear night sky with endless stars visible,  and then return to our room to play Uno and crowd around our small portable DVD player to watch Glee.   

 

One cloudy morning, we set out by bus to the nearby town of Veradero.  We walked along the stretch of the town, from Jonone Park where wild roosters and turkeys roamed free (and which otherwise looked a lot like Dow's Lake) to the local crafts market where vendors offered to  braid Amrita’s hair and drew Aveen in with magic boxes.  We watched people driving in motorized taxi/rikshaws and old fashioned cars and horse carriages.  We admired the colourful houses painted in bright yellows and turqoises.  We found a place to replenish ourselves with Fanta, and I tried to stay away from the stray dogs (which looked more cute than threatening but still brought back memories of mad, stray dogs in India).

 

Besides the warmth and sunshine and beach, the people of Cuba stand out.  Warm and friendly, they try hard to please and help, and they love children.  They loved Jaime because he speaks Spanish and Amrita, ruffling her hair wherever she went, because she is a cute, small girl.  Visitors at the Resort gave Aveen high fives all the time and patted his back – it turns out they were responding to the different soccer team shirts he would wear.  We made friends with a Polish family in this way.

 

I worried about the poverty in Cuba, wondering how they could make money off the vacation packages offered which were a fraction of the price they would be anywhere else.  A tip, even a small one, made people's faces light up and smile gratefully, as did scoring a bottle of ketchup or maple syrup.  They were curious what life is like outside Cuba since they cannot leave the country. 

 

It was a lovely escape, though I didn’t completely forget about my anxieties.  And now I am back, wondering what 2014 will have in store, hoping that it is better than 2013, and wondering again what direction I am meant to take my life, because I haven’t stopped wanting to know why this all happened to me.  Scientifically, it may have been random, bad luck (and then good luck).  But, spiritually, I am convinced that there was a reason, and it is my responsibility to find it and do something about it.  I just hope I don’t mess it up. 

 

At least I know that starting the New Year in Breezes Bella Costa was a good start.

Winter Solstice

Today is December 21st, the shortest day of the year, Aveen's half-year birthday, the winter solstice.  We haven't seen the sun in what feels likes weeks.  Even daylight is a rare treat.  It is dark when we wake, barely sunrise walking to work, and dark again when we come home.  I don't have a window at work anymore so the day passes me by.

The weather has also been fitting - extremely cold, lots of snow.  It sometimes feels like we are in a cave, buried in snow.  The skating rinks have been opened early this year.  It is hockey all day, all the time now.

Christmas lights bring some warmth outside.  Christmas trees brighten the indoors.  Hot meals warm us on the inside.  

It is time to write my Christmas list.  (It's not too late because none of it can be bought at the Bay or Chapters online.)

Above all, of course, good health. 

But there are a few other things I need and want.  Just a few little things.

Courage.  So that I can face what life throws at me.

Strength.  So that I can get through what life throws at me.

Peace of mind.  So that I can rest and be present in the moment and not worry all the time.

Simple pleasures.  So that I can get through the day.

Discipline.  So that I do my yoga practice and meditation and write and eat my veggies and resist sugar.

Resilience.  So that I bounce back.  (Thank goodness, I already got this as a gift some time ago and I always have it.)

And if I can just have a few stocking stuffers.

To be with my family.  I love to be with them.  On the sofa.  In bed.  On skis.  Everywhere.  They drive me crazy but I love them like crazy.

Dinners and coffee dates with friends.  There's nothing better than that e-mail.

Some interesting work to do and interesting people to get to know.

That's all I want for Christmas.

 

Better Now

I am better now. I guess that because if what had happened to me doesn't mean that I will not get sick with the flu or something else ever again. Or that I will have very good luck for a long time, as I feel entitled to. Because things don't just even out in life. There is no Even Steven.

However, I guess that it also doesn't mean that every time I get sick, it will be that. Maybe it will be just the flu. I know that, but how do I believe that? And how do I know if, ever, it is that thing, which is also quite possible? The doctors are not, after all, just checking me every 3 months for no reason (billable hours aside).

I just don't like it. I don't like that I will have to deal with this all my life, even though I know that I was very lucky. And I know that I am only slightly more on the edge than everyone else. 

I go back to what my specialist told me. "I'm sorry it has to be like to be like this. But I don't think you should live I fear."

I'm not doing a great job of that yet.