So where was I?

I think I've lost a little mojo. Some may say I've matured and that may be so but still, I wish I could wade into an argument guns ablaze, ready to defend my opinion. And I have defended my opinion, almost to the death. I have also however admitted when I was wrong, much as I hate doing that but sometimes a girl's got to do what she's got to do!
For now; my daughter and her cousin were involved in a FB spat. I supported my daughter's point of view and before I had time to think it through, I posted my support on FB as well. Jeez louis, what was I thinking? Anyway I was "unfriended' by the niece, and her mother. I apologized to the mother for sticking my nose into a place where it surely didn't belong and hoped it would be left at that. However, now my daughter is being accused of lying and I want to strangle the bitch (the mother) and tell her where to get off in language so far above her intellectual incapacities, she'll never understand it even if she stood on the shoulder of God.
But I won't because I'm mature.
By God I miss myself.

This is a post that I copied from another blog and unfortunately I can't remember which blog! I will go on the hunt for it and please god if I find it I will acknowledge it but for now it makes so much sense to me that I have to post it. It's about how you can make someone's life someone who has cancer or any other shitty illness, how you can make it easier. Pause, read this and remember it

. Be there. Don't suddenly drop off the face of the Earth just because I have cancer. I'm easily pleased: a postcard, a two-dollar violet, a phone call. Don't procrastinate -- I need your friendship and support now.

2. Don't treat me differently. I am the same person. Some cells are running wild in my body, but I still like to laugh, go to movies, swim at the Y. Life goes on.

3. Please do ask me how I am. I may not always want to talk about my illness or my treatment, and I probably won't but if you don't even ask " How are you?" a central fact of my life suddenly becomes shuttered, forbidden and unacknowledged, a deep black hole that we tiptoe carefully around pretending it's not there.

4. Make a concrete gesture of support. I'm not good at asking for help, and the last thing I want to do is to blunder into accepting an offer that was never meant to go beyond words. If you see something you might be able to do, please suggest it. Cancer has abruptly turned my life upside down, and I often don't have the time or resources to figure out how I am going to manage my daily routine. If you're able to ferry my kids to Girl Guides along with your own, pick up a few groceries when you're headed my way, lend me a floppy hat or pretty scarf, or watch for the school bus when I have an appointment, please make the offer. It's hard to be asking all the time.

5. Listen to my family. My husband and kids are in this too. Sometimes kids have questions they may be afraid to ask at home. Answer them honestly, if you can't. If you think I need to know about what's worrying them and can fill me in without violating their confidence, I want to hear it. My husband is also carrying a load that's rarely acknowledged. If he needs to talk about his fears and pain, please listen.

6. Take my kids out. For my kids, the strain and uncertainty of having a sick parent is immense. After a while, home feels like a combination hospital ward/funeral parlor/loony bin. They need to have a bit of fun and remember what "normal" feels like. Please think about including them in your plans; maybe a trip to the apple orchard, cocoa and skating, or story time at the library.

7. Bring food. Regardless of their physical state, anyone diagnosed with cancer is emotionally and mentally shell shocked. For months, I had the attention span of a gnat. Even making a cup of tea was an organizational challenge. Without the casseroles and jars of spaghetti sauce friends had put in the freezer, there were days we would have been dining on peanut butter and crackers.

8. Be patient with my work habits. If you're a colleague or employer, please bear with me. Cancer patients sometimes fell as if we haven't got much time left, and we're spending it in waiting rooms. I know these endless appointments are inconvenient. I know I'm probably not working at peak capacity. But I'm doing the very best I can.

9. Listen to me. I get tired of being strong all the time. It's great to hear about your cousin in Montreal who had exactly the same cancer and is doing fine, but there are days when I really don't feel things are going well. I'd like to be able to talk about it. Please don't silence me with bouncy optimism. Every cancer patient knows we don't all make it. I need to be able to acknowledge that.

10. Do unto others. Perish the thought, but you may be there one day

"For others I wait..."

Thomas Mann said, "Waiting we say, is long. We might just as well - or more accurately - say it is short, since it consumes whole spaces of time without our living them or making any use of them much."
So thats what I've been doing. On 7 Feb I entered the oncologist's office to start the laborious procedure of planning a CT scan. The scan was duly undertaken on 15 Feb and on 18 Feb I received glad tidings, I'm still NED!! hallelujah. But why the delay? I know, and have repeatedly been told, "the doctor's busy" and in a fit of pique my retort to this was, "Yes dear, I know the doctor's time is holy but mine is short." I am sure of only one thing, the anger and paradox of that statement escaped the receptionist.
So this much I know, next time I will also wait and I also know waiting, when you wait for news about cancer does not get easier. The waiting spaces of time that I spend "not living" in Mann's words, are piling up and I'm losing great chunks of worthwhile life that I cannot retrieve, ever.

"do not go gentle into that good night"

"but rage rage against the dying of the light".
What ho, the philosophical poet doth entereth!
Dylan Thomas wrote this poem, it is said, for his dying father. Makes me wonder though, should you fight against death or should you go gently? It is after all a "Good night".
Of course my wondering has at its core nasty old cancer, the thing that prompts a perhaps hastier shuffling of the mortal coil that one would have liked or chosen.
My scans are due so thoughts of mortality abound.
Another internet friend also seems to be losing the fight against cancer. Notice how one "fights" cancer but not measles, mumps or a heart attack. My question is this, is the fight worthwhile if you die in the end? It's not a question that I ask lightly or that arises from a sense of scorn at those who DO fight. When someone engages in a fight against cancer, they become awe-inspiring, people who transcend some of the shit that is part of life, their energy humour and determination leaves me breathless. I just want to know, is it worth it?

"death be not proud"

Angelo has passed away. I had followed his blog and what can I say, he fought with every ounce of his being against his kidney cancer, he fought burocracy he fought his own personal demons and now he is dead. This is not a distant event in a strange country, it is as if someone who is on the same leaky lifeboat as I am has been pulled off the boat. So what now? With his death I came to a realisation cancer can kill me as well. So if I'm living with a sure knowledge that I will die sooner rather than later, why does my life not reflect this? Why do I not live as someone with limited time? And please don't give me all that crap about "but we all have to die someday!!!! It carries no weight in my here and now. I'm in a place where I have to rethink who I am, what I want my life to mean and I want to live so that when I die I'm worn out and empty. Is that however possible?

"What's in a name?"

I was baptized Maria Johanna, good solid names indicating my Dutch decendency. I was given the name of my paternal grandmother. This was against the convention. My brother had been named for my paternal grandfather so I should have been named after my maternal grandmother. But, my mother had decided since mostly boys were being born in our generation, I would be called after my grandmother. She was ostensibly a wonderful person, talented and charming and she drowned in a car accident when she was 48 and my father was five years old. This story has been part of my life for as long as I can remember. And it has been a defining story. Whenever my dad acted crazy, we were told of his mother's sad demise. So I know this story really well. But this is not about my grandmother, but rather her name. for some reason she was called "Minnie" and so was I. It's a good name, a name that fits me really well,... so why do people insist on mispronouncing it? I'm MINNIE not MIENIE and even worse, I'm not MIEMIE. I introduce myself quite clearly as mInnie (something on the line of "Liza with a Zee"!) and yet I'm Mienie. Am I pedantic? I think not. I just like my name to be pronounced correctly or is that asking too much?

"There's a strange beastie in the pool, mother"

The pool in our garden is a creepy green colour with random bits of leaves and insects floating about in gay abandon. And that's exactly the problem, I've abandoned the pool. For some reason (I think it's because I'm the only one that swims) the pool is my responsibility. Usually I test and dip and add a dash of this and a drop of that and it stays a reasonable level of clean but what the hell, let the pool just relax into a space of least resistance. Let it turn green and sludgy because in actual fact, who the fuck cares!!!! When summer's here I'll do the work but for now, the pool is a creative space for green beasties of unknown origin