Thursday, December 30, 2010

A Little Perspective

"Mom, the toilet is overflowing!"

I glanced at the FIOS digital box.
The numbers read 6:17 -
a.m.!

I reached the boys' bathroom to find standing water on the floor.
It had not reached the hallway carpet.
Too bad, I thought. It needs to be replaced anyway.
Nonetheless, there was probably a couple inches of water that needed to be mopped up.

My oldest son blamed his brothers for the plugged toilet,
but he was the one who pulled the trigger.
Armed with a small mountain of towels, disinfectant, plunger and an empty, plastic bathroom trashcan,
I looked like a gladiator plumber, preparing for battle, sans the butt-crack.
Yet despite my best efforts, I was unable to contain the water,
but that's how water is...
it always flows downstream. Unfortunately, downstream in our home meant the kitchen island and floor, located directly below the boys' bathroom. More clean up required - soap, water, Mr. Clean, and you guessed it - more towels.
I phoned Jeff at work.
"Would you bring home a snake?" I began.
He realized pretty quickly that I was not requesting a King Cobra.
I HATE snakes. Christopher hung a "DO NOT USE" sign on the door.

Feeling put-upon,
I grabbed a cup of coffee and sat down to watch the news. The lead story was California's weather, complete with a deluge of rainfall, resulting in mudslides; more than four feet of mud; crumpled homes and ruined lives.

It was 7:04.
I stopped complaining.
Sometimes all you need is an armload of towels and a little perspective.

Monday, December 13, 2010

Hair Identity

You might have noticed that my son, Christopher rocks a huge afro.
Not some watered-down millennial 'fro,
but a retro-70's-style do.


It was his idea, and I have to admit, it was a bold move.
Kids in school don't appreciate individuality,
and a "kid with an afro," doesn't exactly scream
I'M ONE OF YOU!!!!

Christopher's hair draws lots of attention wherever he is.
Strangers often ask, "Are you wearing a wig?"
Others want to touch it; sometimes he lets them.


But when it comes to talking about why he grows his hair, Christopher usually remains tight-lipped, especially around his peers.

Why wouldn't he want people to know that he is growing his locks long enough to have them them lopped off and then donated to make wigs for cancer patients?

Maybe it's because Christopher doesn't mind being identified as "AFRO NINJA,"
having his hair ridiculed or looking different,
as long as he isn't labeled as the "kid whose mother had breast cancer."
I don't know whether it's the word (breast) or (cancer) that he objects to,
but after his hair is cut,
(hopefully)
he will never have to fight that identity again.

Monday, December 6, 2010

Stuck

A year ago, I awoke, thinking of of breast cancer.
This morning, I discovered
things hadn't changed very much.

I believed that once chemo and radiation were finished and surgery was a distant memory,
I would securely feel who I once was.
But the truth is,
I may never be as secure in my heath as I was prior to my diagnosis.
My doctors are hopeful, but have stopped short of declaring, "You're cured."
Instead they say - "You don't have cancer."
What they mean is: You don't have cancer...right now.

Each scar and every unanswered pain
are reminders of who I am now and what I've lost.
Every ache, doctors' appointment and story of recurrence moves me closer to edge of confronting my own mortality.

My mortality...
it's always been there, but the difference is that I've never had to stare it down,
without blinking,
but fighting,
the way you do when you hold back the tears as they try to overrun your will not to cry.

Last year I discovered that I am stronger than I ever knew.
This year's challenge is accepting that it may be impossible for me to ever imagine my future without cancer, while remembering what life was like before the disease.

This is my new reality,
I've just got to keep figuring out how to manage it.

So, I spend most of my waking hours, fighting back the negativity of my most private thoughts; trying to keep the door to my fears, firmly shut, chained up and padlocked.

What seeps out, is what I'm left to clean up.