Sabbatical

Sabbatical
Sabbatical!!

Monday, July 22, 2013

The Lost Week


Well, I missed a week of blogging… and a week of my life.  I know I had been going down just a little over the last three weeks, requiring oxygen to lie flat, but everyone said my lungs sounded clear and dry.  Then I guess I got a little squirrely—confused speech, heavy breathing, that kind of thing.  All I remember is the hospice nurse, hubby Chip, and the oncologist talking on the phone, someone rubbing my chest hard (ouch), and getting into the cutest little wheelchair then  into the cutest little ambulance and going to the cancer center.

Two procedures later by the radiologists, and I was short almost a gallon of fluid in my lungs, and I was breathing like a champ.  Again, this is a common problem in metastatic disease, what were we all thinking?  Anyway, a few days later, the hospital was no longer any place I wanted to be, having learned everything about my neighbor I possibly could (and usually at 4am), having had blood transfused until 3am, being told not to go to the bathroom until after the blood transfusion, and having an “old lady accident” on the floor, no less.  Oh, the horrors of it all.

But it wasn’t just horrors for me.  My little family had to make choices –hospice house (palliate) or hospital (diagnose/treat the first time).  My kids had to see me really confused, and they had to deal with the uncertainty yet again of whether this was going to be the beginning of the end, or just another in a long set of unknowns.  These ups and downs are clearly taking a toll on everyone.  Even the dog has diarrhea.  But we are all seeing our own counselors and finding that incredibly helpful.  I highly recommend this if kids are old enough.

We are planning on going back to the shore on Saturday, but slowly and surely.  I will have enough oxygen just in case I need some, I will sleep on first floor, I will just take it very easy, and we will enjoy every second there with lots of support from here.

How about some poetry (and thank you to all the wonderful people sending me books and poems!  I couldn’t do it without you and who knew we were all kindred spirits!!)?


Walking Home from Oak-Head (Mary Oliver)

There is something
            about the snow-laden sky
                        in winter
                                    in late afternoon

that brings to the heart elation
            and the lovely meaninglessness
                        of time.
                                    Whenever I get home—whenever—

somebody loves me there.
            Meanwhile
                        I stand in the same dark peace
                                    As any pine tree,

or wander on slowly
            like the still unhurried wind,
                        waiting,
                                    as for a gift,

for the snow to begin
            which it does
                        at first casually,
                        then irrepressibly.

Wherever else I live—
            in music, in words,
                        in the fires of the heart,
                                    I abide just as deeply

in this nameless, indivisible place,
            this world,
                        which is falling apart now,
                                    which is white and wild,

which is faithful beyond all our expressions of faith,
            our deepest prayers.
                        Don’t worry, sooner of later I’ll be home.
                                    Red-cheecked from the rouse wind,

I’ll stand in the doorway
            Stamping my boots and slapping my hands,
                        my shoulders
                                    covered with stars.


Saint Francis And The Sow (Galway Kinnell)

The bud
stands for all things,
even for those tings that don’t flower,
for everything flowers, from within, of self-blessing;
though sometimes it is necessary
to reteach a thing its loveliness,
to put a hand on the bow
of the flower
and retell it in words and in touch
it is lovely
until if flowers again from within of self-blessing;
as Saint Francis
put his hand on the creased forehead
o the sow, and told her in words and in touch
blessings of the earth on the sow, and the sow
began remembering all down her thick length,
from the earthen snout all the way
through the fodder and slops to the spiritual curl of the tail,
from the hard spininess spiked out from the spine
down through the great broken heart
to the blue milken dreaminess spurting and shuddering
from the fourteen teats into the fourteen mouths sucking
and blowing beneath them:
the long, perfect loveliness of sow.


Cheers to all, and everyone have a great week,
Lissa

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

My Bad Week, and a Messenger, a Cloud, and an Encounter


Ok, I have had an awful week.  I have felt so week that I have had to get my son to carry me up the stairs, I am short of breath most of the time requiring oxygen support, and I am frustrated because a week ago, I was walking to the beach very happily and feeling completely different. What has changed?  Ah hah!  Only my steroid dose.  My Doc rightfully had put me on a steroid taper, as I described in the last blog, to help me gain some leg strength back, reduce the thinning skin and swelling in my legs,  and stop me from looking so much like a chipmunk.  But clearly there is a balance here, and I’ve passed it, or I’ve arrived at a new dose too quickly for my body to adjust.   Luckily, we have gone back up to the previous dose and we’ll see how that makes me feel.  May take a few days, but I’m thrilled.

I tell you, sometimes you just need a kid.  Two days ago, before I recognized the steroid taper might be responsible for how horrible I had been feeling, my husband and I got a bit of a dressing down from our kids, and rightly so.  I was told that ever since I returned from Mass. I had been grouchy and unapproachable and this made the kids sad and unsure about what was going on.  They also gave it to the hubby about being around a little more and helping with whatever was going on with me.  Then, they both said that we needed to go back to the family dynamics that were so wonderful in May—eating together, being open and clear about what is going on as best as possible, being patient, and just being a family together in the face of the unknown, like we all are. Had I somehow forgotten all of this as I felt worse?  I know I had, and what good lessons to learn and keep learning. 

And then, today, there was the quick visit from my dear, dear buddy (the purple high top gal) who stopped my tears and made me laugh out loud at 8am this morning.  There is nothing like a belly laugh to change the whole day.  Add to this please that the hospice nurse arrived a few hours later, and changed my life again.  She goes right for symptoms and wanted me to increase the steroids even more because what are we doing here?  We are most interested in quality of life!  Yes, she is so right.  She addressed my difficulty in tasting, she upped the steroids, she gave me something for anxiety with the shortness of breath, and she gave me a way to take oxygen around in a car or a walk just in case.  She addressed me.  Ok, I love her.

How about some poetry:

Messenger (Mary Oliver)

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
            Equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old?  Is my coa toarn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect?  Let me
            Keep my mind on what matters,
Which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
            astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
            and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
            to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.


Cloud (Kay Ryan)

A blue stain
creeps across
the deep pile
of the evergreens.
From inside the
forest it seems
like an interior
matter, something
wholly to do
with trees, a color
passed from one
to another, a
requirement
to which they
submit unflinchingly
like soldiers or
brave peope
getting older.
Then the sun
comes back and
it’s totally over.

Encounter (Czeslaw Milosz)

We were riding through frozen fields in a wagon at dawn.
A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it wit his hand.

That was long ago.  Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

Oh my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.

Tuesday, July 2, 2013

Beaches, Patience, Bones, and Hands


Good morning everyone!  I am in Connecticut getting ready for my flight back to Cleveland this afternoon.  Yesterday, we said goodbye to the lovely beach in Mass, even though our weather hadn’t really been so terrific all week.  Oh well.

First of all, let me check in.  I developed a few new symptoms over this 10 day vacation.  My L lower teeth and jaw are numb, that is one.  Also, my left arm sweats profusely.  Yup, that’s weird, but that’s it.  Not my L face or my L leg, just my L arm.  Also, I have to say that I was/am a bit more short of breath this week--just a little more short of breath.  Even so, my sister really made me walk, and I am able to walk a lot farther than I was 5 weeks ago, that is for sure.  I am also slowly turning down the steroids, but my round face and proximal muscle weakness hasn’t changed in any way I can see, but I was told that would take awhile.  I will gladly wait.

In the mornings, Brent would walk a big 3 mile walk and I would start off with her and go down all the little streets just next to our house.  Finally, I would walk down Elder Brewster (our access to the beach), and walk onto this glorious beach with no one there.  The tide here moves horizontally a very long way because it is so shallow, so it is really fun to see where the water is every morning.  The first several days, the weather was lovely and we got some sunbathing in.  But what I loved even more were the mornings sitting on the beach, occasionally greeting a dog with its person, or a group of kayakers, etc.  But mostly, I loved just sitting on the beach, listening, watching, and sometimes even writing.  I think all of us—mom, sister, me—recognize that we might not have this place much longer, and we all want to be there more mindfully, I guess, and recognize what it gives us.  I certainly do.

We had even decided, with tremendous help from the senior center, to leave mom up there for a week by herself (without a car) as they would drive her to meals, grocery store, etc, and we have wonderful neighbors who were willing to help.  On our last day there, mom told us that she really didn’t feel safe by herself.  Good girl; we didn’t either.  So we all came back to Brent’s house.  Mom and Brent will get back up there a little later, and that will do.  I am hoping to get back up there a little before my family does after summer jobs are over.

 I had no idea how the water on this wonderful little beach would call me and make me so happy, but it does! And I’m convinced it has healing powers!  When was the last time you watched hermit crabs fight each other off?  How about the last time you saw a horseshoe crab?  These are the most ancient-looking creatures I’ve ever seen alive, and they are everywhere here, knocking into your toes, running away with those crazy feet with no pinchers…..amazing and prehistoric and worth slowing down, slowing down, slowing down for.

So here is another thing that is happening.  My sister is staying at her own house and I am going home.  She has been my driver and right-hand-gal for the last almost 5 weeks, and I feel her absence profoundly already.  While my family is clamoring for me and I for them, I will be alone again while everyone is working, and I will have to call in my lovely friend group to help me get places and get back into the art I haven’t been doing!  I have never had someone at my side for so long; it has been more than wonderful, my dear sister.  Thank you, B, for navigating so effectively and being there when I really needed you.  My family is richer for getting to know you so much better.  And now, she and I get to do a little planning for her sabbatical that starts in the fall.  Ok, we won’t do a huge amount of planning, but we might do a little.  I think the planning starts with getting back to the beach and sitting on it while writing in our “sabbatical book” together……yes?  Yes.

So, we have had a whirlwind trip, and I’m a bit tired.  I am really looking forward to restarting my meditation/stillness practice that I didn’t do every day in Mass, but that I want to return to and build on in Cleveland.  While my insurance didn’t cover hospice in a different state, believe it or not, I am really looking forward to checking in with my wonderful hospice nurse, as she is practical and no-nonsense and I feel safe when she’s around.  Funny how I can feel this way, but I think this is exactly what hospice should be when it is working right.  I know hospice also makes my family feel safe as well, and that is an even bigger bonus.

How about some poetry?  I really like these:

Patience (Mary Oliver)

What is the good life now?  Why?
look here, consider
the moon’s white crescent

rounding, slowly, over
the half month to still another
perfect circle—

the shining eye
that lightens the hills,
that lays down the shadows

of the branches of the trees,
that summons the flowers
to open their sleepy faces and look up

into the heavens.
I used to hurry everywhere,
and leaped over the running creeks.

There wasn’t
time enough for all the wonderful things
I could think of to do

in a single day.  Patience
comes to the bones
before it takes root in the heart

as another good idea.
I say this
as I stand in the woods

and study the patterns
of the moon shadows,
or stroll down into the waters

that now, late summer, have also
caught the fever, and hardly move
from one eternity to another.


Taos (Jillena Rose)

Bones are easier to find than flowers
in the desert, so I paint these:
Fine white skulls of cows and horses.

When I lie flat under the stars
in the back of the car, coyotes howling
in the scrub pines, easy to feel how those bones
are so much like mine: Here is my pelvis,
like the pelvis I found today
bleached by the sun and the sand. Same
hole where the hip would go, same

white curve of bone beneath my flesh
same cradle of life, silent and still in me.

Loving the Hands (Julie Suk)

I could make a wardrobe
with tufts of wool
caught on thistle and bracken.

Lost—the scraps
I might have woven whole cloth.

Come watch, the man says,
shearing sheep
with the precision of long practice,
fleece, removed all of a piece,
rolled in a neat bundle.

I’ve been so clumsy
with people who’ve loved me.

Straddling a ewe,
the man props its head on his foot,
leans down with clippers,
each pass across the coat a caress.

His dogs, lying nearby,
tremble at every move—as I do,
loving the hands that have learned
to gentle the life beneath them.

Cheers,
Lissa