I have begun walking again in the mornings. I noticed a number of my neighbors out walking their dogs or just exercising. Safety in numbers, and the grounds have lots of green space and wooded sections. The landscaping here is partially done by the management, and partly by the residents - an engaging combination. I appreciate the formal flowerbeds as much as the doorway plantings, everything from tomato plants and herbs to rosebushes.
I have taken to grabbing my CD player and heading out the door a half hour before I need to jump in the shower. The first day, I just walked down our side of the complex, just from our building to the end of the road. Not bad. The next day, I included swinging up by the entrance above our building and then to the end of the road, and each day I have added in another section. I'm not quite at the point of covering the entire loop and back yet, but I am working on it.
Somedays I see frightened little bunnies near the deep bushy wooded section at the back of the property. There are always two or three saucy squirrels and flashes of red and yellow birds flitting about. As I walk briskly along, I glimpse little sections in the wooded areas inviting me to a longer visit. Sunlight glistens on birch bark, beech tree leaves rustle expectantly. There is plenty of exploration waiting.
One of these days I will pick some Queen Anne's Lace. I mentioned to Drew and Kiel how we used to stick them in jars of colored water and watch them turn blue and red and yellow. They had never heard of such a thing. Where did I go wrong educating them!
First, I need to get some foodcoloring. Maybe next weekend when I get paid I will add that to my list of things for the new place next to new paper towel holder (the old one broke in the move) and new cutting board (the old one was pretty yucky so I tossed it). Life is too short not to teach my children to interact with nature as often and as much as possible.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Taking Over
At long last I have time to try and make sense of the jumble that is my new apartment. No more trips, no more rushing to meetings, no more flying off to work in odd outfits. I rise at a leisurely 8am and start in the kitchen. Really, I had gone in to find something for breakfast, but nothing was where I would have put it, had I unpacked.
What began as a minor adjustment to where the spices are housed (not near the heat of the stove! Over by the sink where the baking ingredients should also be) turned into a three hour sorting and switching project. Oh, well. As long as I am at it, let's weed just a bit more - left over remnants of china sets now long broken, old baking trays too stained to clean up, a bent pan I never use because it doesn't heat evenly and stuff burns.
What on earth was I thinking! Oh, right. I didn't pack, so I didn't weed previously. No time like the present. My energy was holding up well, so once I finished the kitchen and unpacked the remaining five or six boxes there, I moved into the living room. The seven or eight boxes there seemed to unpack themselves easily. Drew was still sawing wood in his bedroom (aka snoring), so I kept poking at things, stacking the empty boxes near the door.
Finally, I tackled the front hall closet. What a jumbled mess! I took everything out, rearranged, organized, straightened, and put it all back. Except I needed someone tall to put away the cooler on the top shelf. Time to drag Drew into the fray. Frowzy headed and half asleep, he crawled out of bed at the crack of noon, not complaining. With disgusting ease, he slid the hefty cooler in place, then sat unmoved by my repeated requests to take the empty boxes to the dumpster.
I was on a roll. I headed for my bedroom next and tore through all the boxes on the floor. Feeling rather accomplished, I looked at the nine boxes on the filing cabinet, and I knew the gig was up. They would just have to wait for another day. Not bad though. I finally felt as if I knew where things were and that nothing had gotten lost in the chaos.
3pm. Where had the day gone? I sat in my comfy chair, satisfied and pleased with how airy and filled with sunlight the place was. Of course, the curtains begged to be hung, but I told them they would have to be patient. One thing at a time. Its a good feeling to be in control of stuff, even if it won't last.
What began as a minor adjustment to where the spices are housed (not near the heat of the stove! Over by the sink where the baking ingredients should also be) turned into a three hour sorting and switching project. Oh, well. As long as I am at it, let's weed just a bit more - left over remnants of china sets now long broken, old baking trays too stained to clean up, a bent pan I never use because it doesn't heat evenly and stuff burns.
What on earth was I thinking! Oh, right. I didn't pack, so I didn't weed previously. No time like the present. My energy was holding up well, so once I finished the kitchen and unpacked the remaining five or six boxes there, I moved into the living room. The seven or eight boxes there seemed to unpack themselves easily. Drew was still sawing wood in his bedroom (aka snoring), so I kept poking at things, stacking the empty boxes near the door.
Finally, I tackled the front hall closet. What a jumbled mess! I took everything out, rearranged, organized, straightened, and put it all back. Except I needed someone tall to put away the cooler on the top shelf. Time to drag Drew into the fray. Frowzy headed and half asleep, he crawled out of bed at the crack of noon, not complaining. With disgusting ease, he slid the hefty cooler in place, then sat unmoved by my repeated requests to take the empty boxes to the dumpster.
I was on a roll. I headed for my bedroom next and tore through all the boxes on the floor. Feeling rather accomplished, I looked at the nine boxes on the filing cabinet, and I knew the gig was up. They would just have to wait for another day. Not bad though. I finally felt as if I knew where things were and that nothing had gotten lost in the chaos.
3pm. Where had the day gone? I sat in my comfy chair, satisfied and pleased with how airy and filled with sunlight the place was. Of course, the curtains begged to be hung, but I told them they would have to be patient. One thing at a time. Its a good feeling to be in control of stuff, even if it won't last.
Friday, August 1, 2008
The Report
Imagine my surprise when I arrived for my appointment with my oncologist (confirmed by their reminder call) to discover that the entire floor was dark, empty and quiet. Not a sign posted anywhere. Had the rapture come and left me behind? No, wait, even the computers are gone. PCs don't get raptured.
Now, I know they have been raising money for a new building, and talking about that for some time. But surely they wouldn't have moved without telling the patients! Au contraire. I headed back down the elevator to the Information Desk and explained my dilemma to a smiling young man who informed me that - yes! They have moved into their new facility.
Yikes. I am already late. I wondered how far I would have to drive, dreading threading my way back through the parking garage ramps. "Follow me," the young man said. We headed back to the elevators, and to the right, not a hundred yards away, was a hallway that once had been a passage to the medical buildings on the street directly behind. The ceiling overhang was now emblazoned with huge pewter letters announcing "James P Wilmot Cancer Center" - good Lord. Any bigger and it would have bitten me.
I sheepishly registered and got called back almost immediately. Funny, the examining room looked exactly like the one on the old floor. Same gray table, white cabinets and rolling stool. Within minutes, a white coated man entered the room and introduced himself - the new intern. He plopped my chart down on the desk and ran through the history with me, jotting little things from the chart in his notebook.
He looked at the most recent PET scan and lab results. His brow furrowed. "Well, your lymph nodes are the same size as the last test we did. There is no measurable change. I wonder if the glands are in a difficult position. They will probably schedule you for remedial radiation even though the biopsy we took was negative." He continued to read to himself half under his breath, then realizing that I was still in the room, turned my chart around and pointed to the comments of the person who interpreted the scan. Once again the word biopsy raised its ugly head.
I have learned not to pay attention to the interns. They want everything to be serious. I don't bat an eye until I have heard at least one and maybe two doctors say words based on something substantial. The intern left the room to catch up with my oncologist, and a few minutes later, they both breezed into the room.
The good doctor beamed at me, looking young enough to be my daughter. "Good news - everything is the same. Nothing to be concerned over. We'll just keep tracking . . ." She saw my face. "Oh, I know. You don't want to do scans so often. OK, we will push it out to six months but you have to come see me in three and do bloodwork so we can check your CEA levels, OK?"
I beam happily, nodding my agreement while she tells me that if I notice ANY changes - especially pain or fever - I am to come right back immediately, even if I think its nothing. I pay no attention. All I hear is six months - and add my own 'soon to be a year' thought. A longer leash. Good!
Now, I know they have been raising money for a new building, and talking about that for some time. But surely they wouldn't have moved without telling the patients! Au contraire. I headed back down the elevator to the Information Desk and explained my dilemma to a smiling young man who informed me that - yes! They have moved into their new facility.
Yikes. I am already late. I wondered how far I would have to drive, dreading threading my way back through the parking garage ramps. "Follow me," the young man said. We headed back to the elevators, and to the right, not a hundred yards away, was a hallway that once had been a passage to the medical buildings on the street directly behind. The ceiling overhang was now emblazoned with huge pewter letters announcing "James P Wilmot Cancer Center" - good Lord. Any bigger and it would have bitten me.
I sheepishly registered and got called back almost immediately. Funny, the examining room looked exactly like the one on the old floor. Same gray table, white cabinets and rolling stool. Within minutes, a white coated man entered the room and introduced himself - the new intern. He plopped my chart down on the desk and ran through the history with me, jotting little things from the chart in his notebook.
He looked at the most recent PET scan and lab results. His brow furrowed. "Well, your lymph nodes are the same size as the last test we did. There is no measurable change. I wonder if the glands are in a difficult position. They will probably schedule you for remedial radiation even though the biopsy we took was negative." He continued to read to himself half under his breath, then realizing that I was still in the room, turned my chart around and pointed to the comments of the person who interpreted the scan. Once again the word biopsy raised its ugly head.
I have learned not to pay attention to the interns. They want everything to be serious. I don't bat an eye until I have heard at least one and maybe two doctors say words based on something substantial. The intern left the room to catch up with my oncologist, and a few minutes later, they both breezed into the room.
The good doctor beamed at me, looking young enough to be my daughter. "Good news - everything is the same. Nothing to be concerned over. We'll just keep tracking . . ." She saw my face. "Oh, I know. You don't want to do scans so often. OK, we will push it out to six months but you have to come see me in three and do bloodwork so we can check your CEA levels, OK?"
I beam happily, nodding my agreement while she tells me that if I notice ANY changes - especially pain or fever - I am to come right back immediately, even if I think its nothing. I pay no attention. All I hear is six months - and add my own 'soon to be a year' thought. A longer leash. Good!
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