humor

31 Gratitudes at the End of an Infamous Year

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I’ve been thinking recently about gratitude. In particular, I’ve been pondering what gratitude feels like, how we express it, what it means to be grateful. Initially, I planned to write some profound thoughts. In a year absolutely packed with grief, sorrow, anxiety, and hope, thoughts are plentiful, if not actually profound. The ability to write them down is oddly absent. As such, in place of those pithy thoughts, I have made a list (who doesn’t love a list?!). 

I am filled with joyous gratitude for:

  1. My family and friends, biological and found
  2. Healthcare workers in all their various and lovely forms
  3. Butter toffee cashews
  4. High-top converse
  5. My 90-something neighbors
  6. Being able to compliment others
  7. Sunny days, warm and cold
  8. Hugs
  9. Fall leaves
  10. Spring blooms
  11. Dogs
  12. Cats
  13. Richard Armitage’s voice
  14. The rest of Richard Armitage
  15. Whoever wrote Hot Frosty
  16. Time spent beside a crackling fire
  17. Laughing until my sides hurt and my eyes are wet
  18. Walking 
  19. Noah Kahan
  20. Acorns
  21. Hummingbirds
  22. Corny tshirts
  23. Yoga with Adriene
  24. Crochet
  25. Community
  26. The coffee shop
  27. Writers
  28. Books
  29. Homemade cookies
  30. The neighborhood fox 
  31. Homemade hot cocoa with fresh whipped cream

What’s on your list?

Much love.

31 Gratitudes at the End of an Infamous Year

A Litter of Acorns

Deb Zuroski, , , , , 2 Comments

In a move that probably surprised no one except me, the trees have shed their leaves. I see them on the ground but I don’t recall the events that led to their arrival on my doorstep. Further shocking news: garland and holiday lights now adorn Walnut Street. The city is preparing to celebrate the annual Light-up Night, formally beginning our holiday season. Where did the year go? If any of you find it, can you report back? 

My daughter and I spent a recent afternoon planting spring bulbs. It was a popular activity among the neighbors, resulting in many comments from the people walking themselves and their dogs up and down our street. “Can’t wait to see them in six months.” “Love your butterfly garden.” were among the most validating comments. Having to pick off the sticker seeds liberally coating our clothes and gloves was not, however, a satisfying end to the effort.

My nextdoor neighbor was undoubtedly pleased that we also raked leaves. When we don’t rake them quickly enough, they blow into his yard and then, my friends, THEN he has to get out the leaf-blower to send them back to us. Community is having a neighbor who uses his leaf-blower every day and being sad that one day he’ll no longer do so.

As I was walking to the coffee shop, I passed a young woman holding a bright red leaf in her hand like it was a trophy. I understand the feeling. The desk in our entryway is currently strewn with bright leaves and perfectly round acorns, while my phone is filled with pictures of fall wildflowers still blooming in our yard. 

About a year ago, I joined BlueSky (@deborahz.blsky.social) as I was considering moving on from Twitter (yeah, I’ll never be calling it by that other name, except perhaps to make fun of it). With the election over, that other space has become toxic, with bots adding “your body, my choice” to women’s posts. Since there aren’t effective reporting/blocking tools anymore, I’ve officially left that place and am trying to find community amongst the butterflies of BlueSky. So far, it has been very welcoming, as well as delightfully weird, like early-days Twitter when accounts used to do things like quote entire novels to each other 140 characters at a time. I love the nerdiness.

I finally finished the “whimsical” biography I had to write to accompany a CNF piece being published in an annual lit magazine. I’ve never had so much difficulty writing anything. You’d think someone with a considerable ego would have little difficulty writing about herself. Apparently, I’m a conundrum of contradictions. lol

If you celebrate, Happy Turkey and Pie Over-consumption Day.

Much love.

A Litter of Acorns

I Thought I Was Olive Oyl

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , Leave a comment

I’m sitting next to a black lab puppy at the coffee shop. He’s being a good boy so I can’t pet him, which is a cruel, cruel fact of training one’s puppy. Still, I get to look at his delightful face so I can’t really complain. 

There’s a group of women directly behind me who are having a very girl-talk discussion of their relationships and it is MESSY. One of them just said she can’t wait for her frontal lobe to develop. (Same, girl) It’s very clear that they’re having far more robust sexual lives than I did at their age. Hehe Anyway, I am exhausted just from eavesdropping.

Want to hear the story of my scans earlier this week? After accidentally going to the hospital instead of their outpatient facility two blocks away, I got an MRI with and without contrast. I should have known it wouldn’t go well, given the awkward start. (First I accidentally went to the Cardiac MRI unit at the hospital, then I waited for 30 minutes to get checked in – which made me 15 minutes late even before I walked all the way back to the parking garage, drove two blocks, parked in another garage and went to the third floor of the outpatient center.) According to the staff, this happens a lot, which makes me think they need to work for a solution since we patients are too stupid to do it right. 

Anyway, I had my MRI. If you’ve never gotten contrast, let me tell you that you can feel contrast enter your bloodstream; it’s cold. So, when my MRI was done, I pointed out that I hadn’t felt the contrast, you know, in case they’d forgotten to do it. Well, guess what? They’d accidentally closed the IV connector on my arm and since it didn’t form a seal, the contrast leaked everywhere (and left quite a welt on my arm too). They cleaned off the whole MRI bed and we did round two. Luckily for me, I only had to repeat about half of it since the non-contrast MRI had been successful. 

We’re not done yet …. Usually, the tech announces when they add the contrast. Instead, I knew I was getting the contrast in my arm because it burned like a hot match held to my flesh. Burned and burned and burned. Meanwhile, I’m going through the announced instructions to hold my breath, and breath normally, and hold my breath, and breath normally. I’m trying not to pant while this stupid contrast is – in my head – stripping the flesh from my body. Then, suddenly, it’s over. The bed slides out of the MRI and I tell the technician that I didn’t know the contrast hurts because it never did before. 

Friends, it isn’t supposed to hurt. The IV needle was through my vein and pouring 10 ccs of contrast into my bicep, which had ballooned into a football. The tech called the radiologist who, after quickly checking the scans, said, despite the oopsie, enough contrast had gotten into my system. No need to do a third MRI. We all had a good laugh about my Popeye arm and I went back to the garage, back to the hospital, into their garage, and then down to the correct radiology unit for my CT. 

Again, my friends, we aren’t finished. I arrive in the waiting room and someone comes up to me: “Ms Zuroski?” That’s weird. Right? I say as much and the staff person tells me they’ve received multiple phone calls about me. About me? Yes, because, upon a second review, the radiologist determined that there wasn’t enough contrast and I needed a third MRI. Lol

Before that, they did my CT. Then, three – true story – three radiologists came in to look at my well-inflated football arm and determined that I would, in fact, survive to experience another MRI. And so I did. They had a hard time finding a working vein so I have a few extra holes in me today but overall it was a remarkably amusing experience. Sadly, my arm has since deflated. Perhaps I’ll try Popeye’s solution and eat a couple bags of spinach.

Don’t ask because I won’t have results for maybe 10 days. There’s a radiologist shortage. I’ll let you know the news when I know the news. 

Much love.

I Thought I Was Olive Oyl

Walking a Razor-thin Wire

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

I’m at the coffee shop again, the second time in months. It actually feels a little uncomfortable today, though I can’t articulate why I feel out of place. It’s as pleasant as ever on this edge-of-fall day. The big garage door is open, a cool breeze rustling the napkins and my chemo curls. I usually shave my head with a #3 razor but lately, defying the chemo thinning and chemical damage, I’ve let it grow out a bit. It’s a touch silver now with a little flip at the ends, slightly flattened by the baseball cap my daughter insists I wear in the sun. 

The sidewalks are quiet today. Schools are back in session but since projects aren’t yet due, the students haven’t settled into seats at the back of the coffee shop to work while they talk in hushed tones about their assignments and the cute student in chem class. 

A few minutes ago, a young woman, early 20s I’d guess, came over to my table and asked me a question. It was somewhat hurried; I’m somewhat hard of hearing. I asked her to repeat her question. She said, with a touch of pink on her cheeks, “Do you have wired headphones I can borrow?”

I don’t, my friends. Like most of the 21st century, I use bluetooth headphones. We all know, however, why she asked the silvery-haired lady. I’m pretty sure she just generalized that I, being of an older persuasion, would still be using wired headphones. Next, someone will address me as ma’am and I’ll have to acknowledge that only mentally am I still 17 years old. 

There’s a couple just seating themselves next to me – 70s or early 80s, I would guess. He leans a little forward as he walks, his hands slightly behind him, knees bent like he’s learning to ice skate. He’s on his way to the counter where he’s to order his (probably) wife a small coffee. She emphasized the size to him, as though he regularly brings her a 20oz cup. Now, while he awaits her order, she sits quietly awaiting him, her sky blue sweater flattering the stark white bob of her hair. 

I’m splitting my time today among a synopsis for a novel I’ve been working on for months, a creative nonfiction piece, and this blog. Occasionally, I’ll stop for a moment to look at my peeling nails and wonder about the year’s journey. Mostly, I put it aside but every now and again, I’m struck by the difference between my expectations and the year’s reality. I spend a few anxious moments reminding myself that the cancer was all removed and sometimes touch my tender scars as reinforcement. As much as I disliked the constant poking and prodding, the pills and the appointments, I sometimes now feel like a tight-rope walker who is performing without a net.

The scans that I’ve been anticipating for a month are next week and then the usual wait begins. I’ve been working hard on addressing my scan-xiety but it’s there, despite my efforts. I tap my chest where that 7mm mass is located (right under my breast bone) and remind myself that I’m feeling better, more energetic and less sick. That must be a good sign, right? But that argument doesn’t really work for me since I felt fine while there was a cancerous tumor growing on my liver. I guess the point I have to learn is that the only thing I can control is how I respond to the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune.”

For a time, I obsessively googled cholangiocarcinoma, looking for miracle cures, hope in statistics, comfort for the fearful, perhaps. What I found was statistics that you wouldn’t bet against (my cancer has a recurrence rate above 70% and is terminal in something around 87% of cases). Since that kind of searching did nothing to appease my anxiety, I decided to stop looking for hope in those searches. Instead, I try to remember to spend my free time relishing the moments I have, sitting on the deck with my daughter, teasing my sons with terrible dad jokes, playing with my dogs. I won’t – I hope – waste whatever time I have pining for options that I may not even need. I could be one of the 13% who survive past the five year mark or I could get hit by a bus on my way home from the coffee shop. 

I may have mentioned that I broke another toe about two weeks ago. It’s still swollen as a grape, not an image you necessarily wanted implanted in your brain but … hey … it’s already in mine so why not share with you?! I finally decided to call the doctor today because my walk to the coffee shop was painful. Can’t have my activities restricted by a stupid broken pinky toe. Unfortunately, I probably reinjured my plantar plate, which would be a bummer, but I’ll wait for yet another doctor appointment instead of opening up google to do more anxiety-causing research. The doctor asked if I got my foot x-rayed. HAHAHAHAHAHA Like I went to a doctor.

Two people just walked by with bouquets of flowers from the flower shop, Toadflax, just down the street. They hug and separate just outside the coffee shop entrance and one of the people comes in for a drink. The bouquet she brings with her is tucked into a little bag reminiscent of a flower pot. I want to take a big whiff of her flowers but I know they’re from a hothouse and have no scent. Still, the pink paper wrapped around the blooms complements the overall color scheme and adds a delicate air of elegance to this brick and wood establishment. More importantly, she’s clearly delighted with her purchase and isn’t that charming?

Much love.

Walking a Razor-thin Wire

A Case of the Augusts

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

No nap today, which is a big step up from Friday and Saturday. Those two days you’d have found me on the sofa, dealing with a bad case of WONKY. It’s hard to describe wonky. It comes in many forms. Sometimes, the world seems tilted a little and I can’t keep my balance. Other days, I’m slow-moving through molasses, heavy of limb and empty-headed. 

Life is going relatively well, all things considered. And by that, I mean my nails are still peeling and my heels are cracked, my stomach and my intestines are unpredictable, but those are my normal so, actually, I’ve got no complaints here.  

My daughter is in San Diego, enjoying a much-deserved break from all things cancer. Since she’s been doing the vast majority of the cooking, I’ve created a menu of low-effort meals for the week, necessary, since my energy is still rather sapped as the chemo slowly leaves my body. We’re having, in case you’re curious: pancakes and bacon, burgers, a ham slice and potatoes, a small roast with carrots and some roasted delicata squash, sandwiches, and meatloaf. If things get too real, there’s pizza in the freezer. And I won’t feel sorry in the least if I need to invoke pizza night because who doesn’t like pizza?!

The nurse who takes care of me called to wish me congratulations on my chemo break and to let me know that she won’t be checking in anymore. I knew that but it was still a bit of a jolt. It’s not that I need her to do anything but it feels again like the protective net is slipping. No doctor appointments, no nurse checking in with me, no bloodwork. What am I, a healthy person?

It’s move-in time at the college across the street. There’s an illegal amount of laughing and giggling going on. It’s weirdly like the kids are looking forward to ditching their parents and living without supervision. (This is sarcasm.) 

I never lived in a dorm. Even with some scholarship money, I couldn’t afford to live on campus. Besides which, during college, I worked 4-11 most nights to try to make up the financial gap between the bill for college and those beloved scholarship funds/student loans. By the time I started grad school in Pittsburgh, leaving the house wasn’t something special. My dad had already warned me that if I planned on living at home, he’d charge me $500/month rent. That was more than I paid for my first Pittsburgh apartment ($325/month baby, utilities included).   

The yearly karaoke hasn’t started yet. Believe me, I’m on tenterhooks, waiting for it. When it begins, if I go across the street and sing, do you think they’ll get the hint? I’d guess not. My singing is at least equivalent to some of the people who have performed there in the past. I know why karaoke is popular: alcohol. Since there’s no alcohol on campus, I cannot explain the success of this annual event. And since I only have part of a liver, I can’t even add alcohol to MY day to make the event more pleasing to my sober ear. 

Honestly, I love the college move-in tradition. What I dislike passionately is the capitalist effort to encourage parents to spend ridiculous sums on things their children will throw out in nine months when they clear out their dorm rooms. Trust me, parents, your children will not use 90% of the cleaning supplies you’re purchasing. Neither will they need a second set of sheets, shiny wall decor, and throw pillows. Many of them won’t even use the notebooks and pens that Target says you need to get them. I know this because I walk by the unopened packs of notebooks tossed on the sidewalk with the unopened cleaner, mops and brooms, hangars and clothes with price tags still attached. Community members, including me, have been trying for years to get the schools to collect these things for freecycling but it’s difficult to coordinate and easy to look the other way. 

There’s an interesting media frenzy about a celebrity’s child attending Carnegie Mellon this fall. Mostly, we residents (and the students) don’t care much about this stuff. CMU is renowned for its student – and alumni – fame. My roommate, a million years ago, was the son of an ambassador. I was in class with the great-granddaughter of our founder, as well as full professors, children of CEOs, international students of government officials. It’s hard to be entitled amongst the entitled. I suspect she’ll blend in with a student body that is singularly unimpressed by fame. After all, the shine of privilege gets decidedly less shiny the first time you have to tell your roomie that he has vomit in his hair. 

Much love. 

A Case of the Augusts

The Lessons You Didn’t Know You Needed

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , 3 Comments

Bunnies abound (hehe) on our street. You can usually find them in herds of two or three though I personally prefer to call them fluffs of two or three. If I lived in Canada, I would be blessed to call those beautiful bunny groupings FLUFFLES. Is there anything more beautiful than that?

So, on to updates – so many since I haven’t been keeping up with the blog as much. First, my toe is healing fine. I apparently broke it – poor little toe’s second break – on the edge of a book shelf. Don’t ask. It’s complicated. I was stepping over something, swung my leg wide and … gotcha. No biggie, really. I don’t have much feeling in that toe. Although it hurt a bit when I banged it, I didn’t realize until it swelled and turned purple that I’d broken it.  

The colonoscopy went well, I guess. I slept through it. The prep was exactly what you’d expect colonoscopy prep to be. Drinking two 8 oz bottles of suprep – one of the foulest tasting liquids you’ll willingly drink – was much easier than consuming the theoretically lemon-flavored liquid in the enormous jug. The best part is that I don’t need a colonoscopy for ten years (yay). I went into this test expecting them to tell me I’d need yearly colonoscopies because I already have cancer. A very nice surprise. 

My MRI was good, no changes. My CT shows a mass on a lymph node that we’re going to watch over my next few scans. The doctor is calling that mass “schmutz;” but since it’s technically cancer-sized, we need to see if it grows. If it’s schmutz, it won’t get any bigger after I’m done with chemo so let’s all root for that. Lol

My 94 year old neighbor fell – while she was at the hospital for a routine test. I guess that’s good news embedded in bad news, right? She spent more than a week in the hospital with pins in her broken hip, and telling quite good stories about what an event it is to fall at a hospital. Being a healthy older lady, she’s doing pretty well and has already walked a fair bit. She’s in a rehab facility now, though she’s expecting to go home this week. 

I’ve been visiting her and all I can say is: Everyone needs a patient advocate. Hospital personnel are usually lovely but they have very limited time to explain things so if you aren’t pushy (patient advocates are pushy) you won’t have any idea what’s going on with your care. They don’t introduce themselves when they come in. They often don’t articulate exactly what they’re going to do and WHY. And they tend to treat elderly patients as demented and infantile. My neighbor is neither so when I’m there and care workers come in, I ask pushy questions like: what’s your name? What are you here to do? Why does she need that? Since I’m a neighbor, not a relative, they shouldn’t really pay attention to me but they don’t even ask who I am. They just start talking. 

In another of the “things that you never thought you’d need to know” category, chemo nausea is remarkably unpredictable. Recently, on our way to shop for food, my daughter and I stopped at the Italian ice stand. She got custard; I got a wild cherry ice. Then, we rushed home because I was suddenly incapacitated. No shopping occurred but after the anti-nausea and anti-diarrheal meds started working, we were able to make dinner with the minimal supplies left in the house. Slight exaggeration: we actually have food in the house, but if we did need to shop later in the week so the dogs didn’t mutiny.

I’m so dehydrated, a ridiculous problem to have, that I’m required to drink at least one Liquid IV every day in addition to any other liquids I can force down. It’s annoying, given that I’ve always been a voracious water drinker. Now, it just doesn’t taste good so I’ve got a whole bevy of options to whine about. Right now, I’m choking down a strawberry-flavored Liquid IV. It’s so sweet I’m shivering a little from the taste. The lesson here: don’t become dehydrated in the first place. 

Much love. 

The Lessons You Didn’t Know You Needed

It’s A Middlin’ Day

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , 2 Comments

Coming back from a doctor appointment recently, I drove into a landscape painting, the sky pale blue and dotted with fluffy white clouds. It was somewhat surreal, the utter stillness, but also peaceful as though the stillness was a pause, a moment to catch one’s breath, maybe also to inhale some lilac and peony before life’s chaos continued. 

Those moments are more difficult to see as I enter the slog of the midpoint. Yes, yes, I’m halfway done with those pills. Now, I can both see the end and dread it, as I have been warned. It’s a thing – some kind of a thing – to take a poison dose every day in hopes that it will kill something else that’s worse. It’s another thing to stop taking that poison and know that there’s nothing fighting anymore. 

My oncology therapist warned me during one of our conversations that it can be scary to cross the highwire that is life without those terrible pills. I was feeling some sort of way about feeling sick ALL THE TIME to prevent myself from being sick. She was right, of course, as her years of experience could have told me. I do feel anxious about removing the chemo net from my highwire life. What if the scans – every three months thank you very much – don’t catch it soon enough when it inevitably returns? What if my remission lasts until after the regular scans end? What if? What if? What if?

But we can’t live like that, of course. I crested the hill and started the downward leg of my chemo journey on Memorial Day; and in a week, the day after I watch my youngest graduate from high school, I’ll get my first CT and MRI scans. The therapist and I have already talked about my upcoming scan-xiety – that anxiety that arrives the eve of the scans and lasts through the reading of the results. Having waited for and waded through a lot of tests and results, I’ve experienced scan-xiety. I even still get it with every blood test, my heart working harder as I check my white blood cell count and my tumor markers. 

The anxiety fades as the results come in, even the cancer result didn’t cause more anxiety. Once the test confirmed what we suspected, instead of feeling anxious, I felt … resolve, perhaps, determination to fight. The determination is still there but the slog, the deadly slog of daily poisonings is tedious. The continuing battle against cramps, diarrhea, stomach upset, mouth sores is wearisome, to say the least. 

This is more acknowledgement than complaint. I’m beyond grateful for the tech who spotted that anomalous lesion on my liver, for the people who made it possible for me to take a handful of pills twice a day to extend my life, for the people who help me traverse that highwire even with the net currently in place. BUT some days, when the energy is so low that I spend the day lying on the sofa, staring up at the ceiling while a podcast or audiobook plays softly next to my ear, I think about the woman who spent last spring preparing for a hike. Where the hell is she right now? Definitely not hiking.

It’s A Middlin’ Day

Naps Are the New Normal

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , , , 2 Comments

When I’m not feeling well, as has been the case for several days, I think about how well I would be feeling if I weren’t on chemo and how, despite feeling completely normal, I would be moving ever closer to death as the tumor inside me grew. That I am now cancer-free and feeling ill is the contrasting benefit to my wistful thoughts of wellness, the longing for the pleasure of spring planting and days working beside a big, open coffee shop door.

One of the strategies the oncology therapist has been trying to drill into my head is – conserve energy. Use a terry cloth robe instead of drying off after a shower. Sit to chop the veg for dinner. Take naps. Exercise in brief sessions throughout the day – three 10-minute walks instead of a 30-minute one. It’s hard to acknowledge that some things have to change. I’m not sick but damn this chemo is kicking my butt. 

Today, it’s warm but my toes are suffering from chemo-cold. My fluffy blue socks were a gift from a friend who beat breast cancer. It’s a common theme – apparently – the cold chemo feet. The socks are great and include a non-slip message to cancer: something about me being a bad bitch. I highly recommend them. They’re very snuggly. I also hate them because they too are a marker that all is not as it should be. Instead of socks, I should be padding barefoot through the house and out the back door to sit on the deck. Whine, whine, whine. I am grateful. I AM. But feeling unwell messes with my already chemo-fogged brain, making rational thought an occasional visitor rather than the constant companion I prefer.

My chemo break week has been something of a chemo-tastrophe. I got another infection. My blood work shows that my body is still fighting it. On top of that, I’ve been so drowsy and irritable that I haven’t been able to stand myself. I honestly don’t know how my kids are putting up with me. It’s so bad that I’m almost looking forward to going back on the chemo on Monday. Almost. 

I was warned by those who came before that chemo break is terrible for everyone, which makes it no break at all, you know? I do feel somewhat better today, of course, because it’s the day before chemo starts again. 

We’re getting a new roof, something I put off longer than I should have. I’ve been meeting with contractors about the work and it’s been a right pain in the patootie. One of them tried to bully me. Another gave me a quote of $40,000. Seriously. I mean, my roof is going to be expensive but really? One of the roofers told me to talk to my husband about the quote. 

Back to the point, one of the contractors insisted on socializing with me, a bonding effort perhaps, and I finally said, “hey, I apologize but I’m on chemo and it’s kicking my ass. I’m going to sit during this.” How does he respond? By telling me about all the people he knows who have died of cancer. What? Don’t tell me that people die from cancer. This is something I already know. It’s like when I was pregnant and people told me all of their delivery horror stories. Let’s not, my friends. I already know that cancer is a killer. That’s literally why I’m on chemo. 

Earlier in the week, I was re-watching the Barbie movie with my daughter and I kept thinking that I was too tired to do any of the things they were doing. Jump out of bed and make breakfast? Nope. Go to the beach? Only if I can lie down. Escape to the real world? Maybe if they put in more benches so I can sit. 

Even with all this, I’ve been walking as much as I can. It’s a challenge to hit the step goals I set for myself but I’m trying. Last night when I went up to bed, I accidentally left my water bottle on the first floor and then had a little mental discussion (argument? pep talk?) about whether I actually needed to drink water during the night. The answer is yes. Chemo dehydration is dangerous. It causes fainting and dizziness and other bad stuff. So, I walked the two flights to the first floor and back up to bed. Hit my step goal too. 

Much love. And naps.

Naps Are the New Normal

Live Kindly

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , , Leave a comment

If your insurance company has a medical chart option and you aren’t using it, what are you even doing with your life? Despite its convenience, as I look at the screen, I’m mumbling to myself that I don’t need to confirm every single time that: I know the balance billing act, my insurance hasn’t changed, I have no new meds within the last however many days it’s been since I received a test (one day – it’s literally been a single day since I last filled out their digital paperwork)…. 

Complaining about the efficiency of online check-in feels a little like Homer Simpson yelling at the microwave because 10 seconds is too long to wait for whatever snack he wants, except that visiting the doctor would not, under any circumstance, be considered a snack. Of course, there was that one time when I was NOT the patient and we had the hottest ED doctor (resident) I’ve ever seen. Seriously, I asked the nurses about him and they were like … YEAH, WE KNOW. And then I apologized for objectifying him which made him laugh. And that only made him MORE appealing. He was definitely hotter than McDreamy (is that the right nickname?).

Spring cleaning continues. Since my activities are still limited, I mentored Haley’s first foray into drywall. She did a fantastic job repairing the place in the ceiling that usually holds a light fixture. 

For those of you who weren’t part of the exciting beginning to that experience, a few months ago, the entire fixture threw itself out of the ceiling when I was changing a light bulb. We’ll be putting a new ceiling light up as soon as painting is complete. That part will be easy and fun because we found the most beautiful Victorian ceiling light at Construction Junction. It was $35. Seriously. We returned the somewhat banal light we’d purchased at some big box store.

We’ve finished scraping, spackling, sanding, and priming. We’re about to start painting actual color onto the walls and ceilings. There are a lot of moving parts. The painting has to be done before the largish throw rug arrives next week. Also, next week, we’ll get the carpet padding for our new-to-us/found-at-an-estate-sale-for-$100 rug. That thing is huge, somewhere in the 16’ x 11’ range but it’s a perfect fit for our living space.

We still need a bedframe for the guest room and then, we’ll be ready for our May visitors and any others who follow. There are two upcoming estate sales that have good potential queen bed options. I love buying used furniture with good bones on the cheap. Next week, the guest bedroom mattress arrives.   

A contractor is coming this week to look at my leaking shower floor – waterproofing is not one of my specialties. I gave it a try but we’ve still got a leak, folks, and that’s causing drywall damage in the second floor bathroom. We need to patch that in order to paint the bathroom and on and on. It’s beginning to feel like a Jenga game but I know we’ll manage. 

I’m still looking for a roofer since I fired-before-we-signed-paperwork the company that called every day, plus texted and emailed until I got annoyed enough that I told them we couldn’t work together. They wanted a 90 minute meeting. I told them I couldn’t currently accommodate that much time and they began pestering. UGH. Better to know upfront though.

It’s now week two of chemo session two. I’ve had a few icky experiences but mostly it’s been quiet this round. I’m tired. I have nightmares every single night. My joints ache. I’m finally healed from the second infection I managed to pick up since starting chemo. 

All of this sounds terrible, right? But you wouldn’t know to look at me that I’m taking 4000 mg of capecitabine every single day. Mostly, I feel pretty good, though I’ve gone off asparagus and lemonade makes me sick to the point of incapacity. Unfortunately, I drank about 4 ounces of lemonade before I figured that out.

I’ve had a couple people ask if I can do activities outside the house. Yes and … no. I’m doing lots of stuff in and out of the house but I have some limits. No standing for long periods – and by long periods I mean like 15 minutes. I sat in a chair or on the floor during scraping and sanding! 

No tea because it can prevent chemo from working. If I’m going through chemo, I am sure as hell not shooting myself in the foot by drinking tea. No large crowds. I’m not immunocompromised but I’m also not stupid. Large crowds increase disease likelihood so I’m keeping it small. Those of you who are envisioning that I look like the crypt keeper – yeah, well I sort of do but no more than I ever have. 

There are two songs playing on repeat in my playlist – “Be” by Hozier, acoustic because he said in an interview that it’s his favorite version of the song AND “Blackbird” by Beyonce. I think – don’t hurt me – that it’s better than the original. 

And finally, while I don’t have the link to the game bundle that includes SQUB, my son’s latest game, I will share it when it arrives in my inbox. All proceeds go directly to support at-risk young people. If you support the cause, check out the link and tell your friends. If you don’t, just keep moving because I block haters. 

If you want to support my boy’s game studio, you can just buy his game. 

And finally, one of the many lessons I’ve learned on this journey: I might not be able to determine my lifespan but I get to choose how I live with the time I’m given. And I choose to live more kindly today than yesterday. 

Much love. 

Live Kindly

Take Time to Smell … Paint Stripper?

Deb Zuroski, , , , , , , , , , , , , , , 1 Comment

The nightmare was bad, the kind that makes you choose not to sleep for the remainder of the night. It was 4ish when I awoke, though, so I lay in bed, listening to the sounds of the early morning: two foxes talking as they headed toward the park, early birds calling to each other – more likely warning others off but as a non-speaker of bird, I couldn’t say for sure. 

There was a gentle movement at my back. One of my doxies has been sleeping with me; and curled tightly against my back in my cold bedroom, she was dreaming, her paws twitching, her tail occasionally wagging. She wouldn’t want me to tell you this part … her small, pink tongue was sticking out of her mouth just slightly.

My oncology check-in was uneventful. The care team is mostly happy with my situation, reminding me to drink at least 64 ounces of water every day and moisturize, moisturize, moisturize. They Snow White-d me when I arrived:  “Let me see your hands.” It made me laugh but I doubt they got the reference, especially not the PA who seems somewhat humorless.

I’m doing well, more tired than I think I’m capable of describing. And wow, the chemo brain has set in. I forget the most mundane things – things I’ve never before forgotten. You can advise me to make lists and use a calendar – go ahead; I know you want to. Funny thing is, I do both and I STILL forget really mundane things. We’re talking about everything from a take-out order for one of my kids to a grocery item to a doctor appointment. 

Haley and I walked 10,800+ steps yesterday. It was cold and windy, not the best time to marathon-walk. Nonetheless, we walked. At day’s end, I was so tired that I tried to go to bed without eating, not feeling in the least inclined to bother. But all three of the kids stepped in to make sure I ate: Wheat Chex (the best Chex cereal; I will accept no argument to the contrary) and a banana was my choice and it was about all I could manage, lol. 

Today, we’re back at the spring cleaning. It’s been so much fun. I can see why the Maria Kondo’s of the world encourage it, though I think you have to be in the right mindset to see the value. We’re excited to be freeing ourselves of the burden to care for objects that no longer serve; but even five years ago, we wouldn’t have been able to do this.

My favorite place – one that has helped us a lot through this experience – is Construction Junction, a re-use store here in Pittsburgh. I’ve donated the unwanted and found new treasures that I’m really excited about. For example, we got two antique light fixtures. One will replace the gaping hole in the ceiling where the previous light was before the screws in the – oops, they cut the hole too big – drywall gave way, allowing the fixture to fall off the ceiling and swing by fragile wires. Now, all I have to do is repair the drywall and paint before I can hang that light – next week, if the chemo doesn’t chop me off at my knees. 

We were planning to put the second fixture – yes, we have a place for that, actually two. Cleaning out is not successful if you add back in all sorts of new stuff. SMH Anyway, the final location for the second fixture was being hotly debated – over the dining room table or in the kitchen. The kitchen will win because we realized that the dining room ceiling – my turn for an oopsie – isn’t wired for a light. The current monstrosity has a cord and plug, which I KNEW, obviously, but just kind of forgot in the midst of my passionate argument in favor of the dining room. 

We are, however, considering solutions for the dining room. Both of us are leaning toward removing the monstrosity (donating to Construction Junction, of course) and using ambient light instead. The monstrosity is so big that it’s forehead level if we move the table AND it is impossible to clean. There are reasons to keep something that’s been labeled hard-to-clean but “hating it” isn’t one of them.

Work was interrupted multiple times by dogs. It was so nice that the puppies were convinced that it would be warm. They insisted, multiple times, that it would be warm THIS TIME. Their disappointment was palpable. Mine would be too if only I had fingerprints but they were stolen by capecitabine. I hope I get them back later this year because dropping stuff is freaking annoying. Still, we were able to enjoy the sun, if not the temperature. Soon, we’ll have both.

Much love and time to smell the spring flowers.  

Take Time to Smell … Paint Stripper?