Hodge-Podge & some music

A confession:

Complementary
Complimentary

Two different words. I have been completely ignoring the first and using the second for both meanings. I know! I should totally know better. Now I do. My apologies for being wrong for so long.

A question:

Is rock-n-roll bohemian a valid style descriptor? If not, I'm making it one for today. It seems like something Cosmo would say, which makes me a little nervous, because I'm... well, not the kind of person who would be featured in Cosmo, but today, I feel a little like a hip hippy. You know those 2-layer wrap skirt things that supposedly can be worn 23 ways? I've only ever managed to pull off two of those ways until now. I saw one where you turn it into a jacket-shawl-cape-thing and I'm sure I dismissed it 100 times thinking that it's not a look I could pull off, but something about it looked do-able and now I'm all flowy and stuff. I love it! But I'm also wearing half pig-tails & crackle nail polish, so... you know... I feel a little rocker-esque too. So there's that...

A project:

I was trying to figure out a way to say (in 140 characters or less, because I was tweeting) that my friend Paula & I have barely convergent circles in the Venn Diagram of interests, but that what was in that together space was really strong & has kept us friends for more than 10 years, which is pretty incredible. Now I want to go make an actual Venn Diagram thingy for my Nebraska girls, because, on the WHOLE we don't really seem to make sense, but like lots of friends that you've had for a long time, there some shared experience stuff that kinda works like glue, but in the beginning, we had people look at us and actually say, "You two are friends? How does that...work?" Usually about me & Karen, but we were DESTINED to be friends. We had the same 2 posters on our walls (Trainspotting, the rant, and Say Anything). Destiny!

A sad:

So, remember way back on Tuesday or something when I said that maybe something exciting would happen before I posted next so I could make you laugh again? Well, I forgot to put the caveat of "something good & exciting" in there. Not that me saying that had anything to do with what did happen after I posted that, just... you know... you say things like "how could this get any worse?" and then it does, so you think, "wish I hadn't said that!" It's like that. Because after posting that, I found out that a friend had died due to complications in a surgery to remove her leg because of cancer caused by neurofibromatosis. Yeah. Sucks. She wasn't a close friend, but someone I sort of hung out with for 15 weekends a year as we participated in the same hobby. In preparation for the surgery she cut her shoulder-length red hair into a pixie cut and dyed it electric teal. She was a fighter and it's totally lame that she's gone. Totally lame. Cancer sucks, and it's the bad kind of diva, and... just... yeah.

A triumph:

So, a while ago, I got a new phone. I was very resistant to doing so because I loved my old phone. Now, I was totally one of those "phones are for calling people" people until I got my own smartphone. Then, having access to my e-mail and Twitter whenever I wanted was... too awesome to give up. So, I had a Google phone with a full qwerty keyboard that slid out, not a touch screen one, and that's all I wanted for my new phone. As a bonus, my new phone also is a lot louder than my old phone, so I can use fancy music ringtones & still actually hear my phone ring. This was very exciting to a music-based life form like me. But then! I didn't "safely disconnect" my phone from my computer and all the files on my phone for cool music went all wonky and I lost my fun ringtones, only I didn't know it until I missed like 3 calls, because I had my phone turned up ALL THE WAY and still missed calls when my phone was IN MY POCKET. So, I switched over to one of the standard rings that came with the phone, and it wasn't horrible, but it wasn't awesome, and I was used to awesome. Anyway, all that is just the back story. The triumph is that I fixed it this morning & instead of having to listen to the love child of a UFO & a pinball machine every time someone calls me, my phone now sings Blue Carolina to me. This is awesome again and makes me wish that people would call me so my phone would sing to me more. Almost.

Cancer is the bad kind of diva

I forgot my dad had cancer.

I mean, I didn't erase it from my memory, expunging all thoughts of his diagnosis and treatment. (Expunge is a fun word to say. Go ahead, try it out.) No, I just... sort of forgot.

3 years ago, the Monday after Father's Day he called to tell us about the last in a series of tests to try to figure out why he was having ulcer-like symptoms that were getting worse, not better with multiple different treatments, and oh yeah, they couldn't find an ulcer. What they found instead was Stage IV pancreatic cancer all up in his liver. That was an interesting day, in the way of the Chinese curse/blessing thing that says "may you live in interesting times" which I have no source reference for, other than my husband says it sometimes.

After that initial diagnosis, we found out that it was the GOOD kind of pancreatic cancer, if you can imagine such a thing. Well, there's a "most likely dead within a year" kind and the "maybe dead within five years" kind. My dad has the same kind as Patrick Swayze, who, as a bizarre side note, attended the same high school as my mother, though not at the same time. Small world, eh?

So, the good kind of cancer, 18 months of chemo with some really great doctors. MD Anderson gets a lot of thanks from us. Dad being made of awesome and stubborn and no small amount of knowledgeable did research to find the best doctors and he went in ready to fight and win. He's always had such an amazing outlook on all this. He's been hopeful and determined, even when sick and tired of being sick and tired. I really admire his guts. And the rest of him too.

I won't go into the details of how much chemo sucks, because I honestly don't know. I know that it was hard to see my dad sick. At one point, I hardly recognized his face. He'd lost so much weight he didn't even look like himself. The hair loss thing wasn't really an issue since he'd long since joined the shiny-pate club. As a kid I remember telling people that I'd gotten his red hair and that's why he didn't have any. I know that it was hard to see my mom tired. I know that it was amazing to see the way they talked and loved each other and got through some truly awful stuff. And they did get through it. There was a lot of prayer, a lot of laughter, a lot of morbid humor about what sort of container to put Dad's ashes in eventually. I think we decided on some sort of champagne bottle. I was really rooting for an Erlenmeyer Flask, so someday we could put Mom in a Florence Flask and have a matched set. Humor, it's how we survive tough times in my family.

Then, after that, it was, "Hooray Stable Disease!" and on with life. Stable Disease is a strange sort of victory. It means that nothing is growing, but it's not going away either. Well, what it did go away from was my conscious thought. My dad seemed like himself again- happy, healthy and doing all the stuff he'd always done. After those first few scans that confirmed that everything was still the way we'd left it, we adapted to the "new normal" and moved on. We still used the "good china" and the "nice" everything every chance we got. We talk more and maybe say things more openly than before, but other than that--things when back to normal. So I forgot. I mean, when he stopped chemo, he told us all very plainly that this wasn't the end of the story. He's a scientist, through and through. Rational, analytical, practical. He made sure we knew that this was just an intermission, but we all hoped it would be a long one. We wanted years to go by before we dealt with this again.

But cancer is kind of a bitchy diva. It always wants to be the center of attention. I think that's what I hate most about it. I have to remind myself that my dad is more than a bunch of stupid tumors. I want to make a bad pun/metaphor/analogy thing about cancer rapidly growing and killing all the normal thoughts and replacing them with cancerous ones, but I just can't make it work. That's sort of the sad truth though. All thoughts seem to go through some sort of cancer filter and I just want to punch my brain in the face sometimes because life does not revolve around you, Cancer!! Which makes me laugh because I can't even remember the number of times my father said that to me growing up. "The world does not revolve around you." Usually when I was in trouble for doing something without thinking about the consequences beyond the fact that I wanted to do it. It took me a lot of years to understand what he meant by that.

Anyway, the world does not revolve around cancer. My dad is more than just some tumors that are being treated, again. After 18 months of travel and hobbies and margaritas in the pool, he's back in treatment. It's not the end of the world. His doctor is very hopeful, and so is he. He's a pragmatic fighter, aware of all the associated risks and yet still hopeful. It's more than amazing to see. And my mom... I mean, I've always known that she was the kind of strong that "Steel Magnolias" is all about, but seeing her be the very definition of the phrase "help-meet" is humbling and inspiring and wonderful. They celebrated 42 years of marriage last month. They've been together two thirds their lives. Crazy, innit?

So, chemo again. It's... it's just life now. When I think of my dad, I try not to think of symptoms and side-effects of drugs that can't be exposed to sunlight or touched with bare hands. I think it's awesome that Dad gets to take his chemo pills with a dollop of whipped cream to help them go down smooth. I'm totally using that excuse for my uber-foul tasting vitamin D supplement from now on. See, that's the kind of thing that is so very my dad--finding small bright sides, even in CANCER.

To quote me, which is probably tacky, but I don't care: "...get your parts checked regularly. All of them. If you've got habits that increase your risk, cut it out. Use your fancy dishes and make special occasions a regular occurrence. Live your life abundantly. That is all."

Cancer of the something

Many angry four-letter words come to mind when cancer is mentioned. I believe the people who say if you live long enough, you'll probably get cancer of the something. I'm thinking I might wind up with skin cancer on the tip of my left ear. Even though I'm a fan of and consistent user of sunscreen, I often forget my ears, and that is my driving ear, so it sees the most UV rays...

One of my favorite memories of my time at KLKN was a PSA about colon cancer. This very official, dignified looking man in a suit would come on the TV and announce that there was a new test that had been discovered to determine if you were at risk for colon cancer. You just put both of your hands on the small of your back, then slide them down. If you have a butt, you are at risk. See? Everyone is at risk for cancer of the something.

Cancer wasn't even a part of my life 10 years ago. It existed out there somewhere. I knew some people who had it and it was in my family tree but in the vague and forgettable way of being far enough removed from daily life that I didn't think about it much. I still try not to think about it all that often, because who by worrying ever added a day to their life, right? Still, Cancer seems determined to make the headlines of my daily life.

Years ago it made front page news for the first time with my grandma. My grandma, who makes perfect biscuits and always has Cocoa Puffs for me at the house, was fairly invulnerable in my tender young brain. I was in college and still had all four of the grandparents that I was born with so I was unable to cope with the prospect of losing one. Thankfully, I didn't. The doctors caught it early and cut it out. After chemo, I saw my sweet little grandma without her hair. I think I lost my mind a little bit when she shows up for Christmas with this cute, pixie-ish haircut. It wasn't bad, it just wasn't the haircut she'd had all my life. I vaguely remember when her hair was chocolate brown before it became silvery, but it's always been the same cut and style. Always. It didn't even really click in my brain that the hair I was seeing wasn't her own. Later, she took her wig off to get comfortable. Those of us who were visiting from out of town hadn't seen this before, and there was a collective holding of breath as we realized just what Cancer meant and was doing. Thankfully, my brother married a wonderful woman who'd been through it before and handled that moment with a grace that put the rest of us at ease. That was 7 years ago, and Grandma has been cancer free ever since.

If Grandma getting cancer was front page news, then my dad's diagnosis was one of those stop-the-press ultra-bold headlines that takes up nearly everything above the fold.
I still had four relatively healthy grandparents so I just couldn't wrap my brain around my Dr. Colonel daddy being sick. It was a really scary time that taught me volumes about what true love is. I watched my parents change and adapt their relationship to accommodate a new routine, but not give any ground to Cancer. That new routine involved wonderful things like using the "fancy" dishes and Mama's beautiful bronzewear for any meal we felt like it. We drank the special occasion wine on the couch with cheese and peanuts, because being together was a special occasion. We laughed more and hugged more. We cried more too, but we never let that be the last word. We talked more openly and told the stories we'd always been meaning to tell. It was a beautiful, awful time and I never want to do it again. It's been more than a year since Dad stopped his chemo treatments. Looking at him now, you'd never know that just a few years ago we were updating wills and discussing final wishes. "Stable disease" is a triumph.

I wish that were the last time Cancer made an appearance. I wish it would relegate itself to being an extra with one line. A cameo appearance. I don't want it to be a reoccurring character, and I certainly don't want it to stick around long enough that it gets it's picture and name in the opening credits. Oops, I switched metaphors. I mean, I don't want it to have its own byline. There, I think that's back on track.

Two years ago, Cancer decided to jump from the Family section to Friends. Friends with cancer? That can't be right. Friends aren't allowed to get cancer. Old people get cancer. Family members get cancer. Cancer isn't for young, healthy, vital, laughing friends of mine. I tried to tell Cancer that it was totally out of line, and should leave my friends alone, but it didn't listen. So my friend took herself to get tumors and lymph nodes taken out. She got irradiated, which left little tattooed dots that she's slowly turning into triumphant artwork that shows that she's a survivor. See Cancer, I told you that you picked the wrong girls to mess with.

Just this past week, Cancer decided to visit the other side of my family and a good friend's mother lost her fight with the beast. Many angry four-letter words come to mind when cancer is mentioned. Cancer sucks and cancer is mean but I can't seem to keep it out of my life. I dread that conversation where someone says they found a lump, or a routine check revealed a spot. Lumps and spots are dumb. I don't like them, but I can't wish them away.

So get your parts checked regularly. All of them. If you've got habits that increase your risk, cut it out. Use your fancy dishes and make special occasions a regular occurrence. Live your life abundantly.

That is all.