The One in Which I Hope Winter is Coming

No, I'm not talking about the very popular series Game of Thrones. I watched a couple of seasons, but my very wise son and I had a conversation a while back about how he stopped watching those kinds of shows because he didn't want those violent images in his head. I thought about it, and I agreed. I don't need those kinds of gruesome thoughts in my head. So, when I say, "I hope winter is coming." I'm not referring to THAT winter..

I'm talking about the seasons-seasons. You know, like spring, summer, fall, and winter. (and NO, they're not capitalized in this situation. I googled that shit, you fellow grammar geeks!)

Now, I am straight up going to warn you that I'm not going to write anything in this post that's terribly orginal. #sorrynotsorry Writers have been using seasons as an analogy for life ...well, probably forever. If we could interpret all the petrolglyphs on the rocks, we would most likely read messages about seasons being an analogy for life.

But I have something to say about it; I have my own voice, ...and most importantly, you can't stop me. So, neener, neener, neener! 

I'm going to put my mom on blast for a second, but I'm also going to turn the lens around and look at myself,, so I hope she doesn't take offense.

But just in case: I love you, Mom! <smooches!>

I have two siblings, and despite our very different personalities and lifestyles, we love being together. And when we get together, we tend to be loud and raucous, and we think we're hilarious. At least we laugh A LOT. My mom often seems to get frustrated because she can't get a word in edgewise as we riff off of each other. After all, we are from the same generation - have the same cultural references - and have had a lot of the same expeiences since birth. I've often said that my mother wants to have all the family together, but once she gets her wish, she seems like..."be careful what you wish for..." Most of the time, I think she is better one-on-one with each of us because she can really TALK instead of listening to us. P.S. I don't think we're as hilarious as we may think we are. <gasp!> No! That can't be, can it?

My siblings: brother John, sister, Kathleen/Kathy/Kate, and me (I'm easy to pick out. I'm the one with blue hair and brain cancer) - Summer 2015

I have experienced the same thing with our four children. They are seven years apart, oldest to youngest, but when you get into your 20's, that gap doesn't seem like that big. And our kids are very close. They've got each other's back and communicate regularly. Just like my siblings and I, they are really different in personalities and lifestyle, but they have such love for each other!

Aidan, Katherine, April, and Sara - Daou Winery, Summer 2015

We recently went wine tasting at Daou Winery in Paso Robles. We were looking for a place to meet halfway between Santa Barbara, where Katherine is living right now, and the Bay Area, where the rest of us are . Sara recently turned 21, so we can all go wine tasting <eh hem!> LEGALLY, I should add. But once we got around this big table, (just as usually happens when we get together as a family) the kids are very loud and raucous...and yes, they really are hilarious.  I was trying to participate in the conversation, but ...wouldn't you know it! I couldn't get a word in edgewise! And I was growing more frustrated. I kept opening my mouth to speak, but one of the children or another was hopping in to say something. This has happened before in similar situations. In fact, it happened one time when I was with my mother, and she looked across the table at me as if to say, "See. See what I feel like." We spoke about it later, and we agreed that we felt ...."marginalized" at those times.

But then I had this moment of clarity at Daou. It wasn't my turn. It was their turn. I don't mean this in a deragatory way at all. I sat back and watched and listened and enjoyed every minute of it. (Except when I snuck away with my granddaughter, Autumn, and went for a walk with her in a sling and talked to her about all the pretty flowers on the property. She had a lot of very insightful things to say.)

Yep! Grandma June using a sling like a boss!

Watching my children - so different and yet so close and funny and enjoying the whole experience of being together - I was bursting with pride and feeling all warm and fuzzy inside. And I know Steven was, too. We talked about it on our way home.

Or more accurately: WE made "dis". Okay, if we're going to be truly accurate, we made four of dese...I mean, "these"

I've been thinking a lot about that experience, and realized there's a time for everyone. I wasn't being "marginalized" that day. There are no margins unless you limit the space you can occupy. I was in a different space - not in the margins - just like Autumn.

Autumn (despite her name! haha!) is in the beginning of her life - the spring. When you first see the signs of life. She is blooming and growing so quickly. Every day, we see something new and different. It's almost hard to keep up.

Could she be any cuter??? (Pssst! The only acceptable answer is "NO, she's the cutest thing EVER!")

When she gets a bit older, she will be in Summer. Bright and full of promise,  children grow into adults - first, with little responsibility, but getting stronger through nurturing and their own determination. There are so many variables, who knows now how she'll "turn out"?

Our kids are in the summers of their lives. Doesn't everyone like summer? Summer is awesome! Full of possibilities, and yet, sometimes it can seem stressful because we are trying to cram so much into that time. School, relationships, maybe travel...marriage and babies (not necessarily in that order)...It's intense and chaotic but as much fun as it can be...

Steven and I are in the fall of our lives. Transitions through our lives are usually gradual and sometimes we turn around and say, "Huh. When did that happen?" There's no definitive line. I took this picture in the vineyard the other day while walking with Steven because I thought that it represented a lot of what I was thinking. We have the leaves turning colors while the fruit hangs ripening. Some blocks are ready to be picked and begin the new season while others need more time to mature.

Without getting too hokey (#too late #don'tcare #stfu), we are seeing the fruits of our labor break away and change into the things they're meant to be. Some of it is our doing, but some of it has nothing to do with us. So many variables...

I think of our parents as being in the winters of their lives. Winter is usually less flashy. Sometimes it can look barren or colorless. Sometimes it's associated with death. But think about it: winter can be really long. And if you look closely, you see the beauty. The sun sparkling on the snow, or the cleansing rain, or the trees revealing intricate, gnarly branches that are obscured during the other seasons by the leaves. The water amd those branches are sources of life. And they're beautiful.

Think about the season of life you're in. Yes, it's natural to reflect on seasons past, but don't begrudge those that are there now. Or be fearful or resentful of where you are now or where you're going. Appreciate its own unique beauty.

I'm appreciating this time of life, but as my title says: I hope winter is coming for me eventually  because it looks pretty damn sweet to me.

And remember: you can only be marginalized if you limit the space that you occupy.

The One in Which I Unpack the Love

Earlier this week, I had a Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Steven had left for work already - as every day during harvest season. Sometimes, I feel emotional and down for no particular reason. I know. I know. I have a pretty good reason: I have brain cancer.

But I have brain cancer all the time. And most of the time, I go about my day and don't even think about it.
Okay, I call bullshit on myself. I do think about it, but I don't DWELL on it.

But this particular morning, it was overwhelming. I was sad, and depressed, and....lonely. Honestly, all I wanted to do is lay in bed, safe under the covers, Steven's arms wrapped around me. He can't say, "It will all be okay.", but he could say, "I'm here for you."

Only he couldn't. I was alone In our new house, and he was working hard for Harvest 2015,

So, I did the next best I could think of: I pulled his out-of-shape, holey sweater from on top of his dresser and put it on me. I took a big sniff of it first - to smell the Schmoopy scent. And then I just curled up in my bed, and cried. Big, juicy tears rolled down my face, and I used the arms of Steven's sweater to continually wipe them away. Also, to wipe my sniveling nose. (Sorry, Schmoopy! I promised that I washed it after! See!)

What do you think? Circa 1980's?

After a good, cleansing cry, I lay in there in bed, just thinking through my mood and what was going on. It wasn't the end of the world, but I had every right to have a meltdown. I didn't even have to use my #cancercard. Moving is stressful. But I was crying about my cancer - still feeling sad, depressed, and alone.

As I looked out in the distance and contemplated my situation, I remembered how scared and upset I was when I first got my diagnosis. And how many of you rallied around me, surrounding me love and prayers, and strength. And in a "made-for-t.v.movie moment", I decided to get up out of bed and find the box that we had in the garage that I labelled: "June - post dx inspiration - study".

Study was referring to the location that box would go, but now that I think about it, it works as a command, too. 

I wrangled with the boxes in our garage and found the right one and hauled off to the study - which is a fancy word for "Steven's and June's shared office where he'll drive me crazy watching Golden State Warriors post-season highlights (without headphones), and I'll end up in the family room using my computer". (It's just a convenient shorthand.)

I started unpacking the box and there were two posters on the top - one was from our team for Relay for Life (Go, Wine Girls!), and one was given to me by Jeanne Mullins. She dropped it off and said, "I was just practicing in my calligraphy class, and I thought of you. I lost it right then and there, and sobbed. Jeanne was diagnosed with advanced pancreatic cancer about a month after she gave that to me, and died a peaceful death surrounded by the love of her family. Again, this sounds like a Lifetime movie script, but this really happened just like I'm writing this.

I'm not giving up, Jeanne. But thank you for reminding me that I can scream and cry. 

Go figure, Steven came home right then, as I stood in our study/office and said, "What's wrong?" I suggested that w go for a walk in a few minutes, and I could talk to him about it. The answer to that question was more than a one-liner. We had a good walk around the vineyard with the doggies. I held his purple, calloused, and blistered hand from harvest work, and talked & cried. Probably, he didn't understand half of what I said, but that's okay. He was there for me.

The next day, I started to reconstruct the corner I had in my old house, with all the treasures and reminders from all of you. I finished today.

This is my new sacred corner - filled with love! The corkboard on the top has my goals for this year

Top Shelf: Yes, that is my radiation mask in a purple wig and Minnie Mouse ears.

Shelf Two: Many angels and ninjas, etc.....all keeping Dr. Awesomesauce company

Shelf three: The Stars of The Kick-Ass Ninja Adventures of June/The Outlier .<---click for the story

And so many other treasures of positivity!

Instead of putting up each card, letter, and email you sent me, I put in a container customized for me that's labelled #MFBCFNW. As I put each thing inside, I reread the sweet, loving, thoughtful things people took the time to send me. Many of you included phone numbers so I can call whenever I need anything. It struck me like a sledgehammer that am never alone.

Ninja Stars on the left, all your loving messages on the right. SQUIRREL!

[I also looked at last year's goals that I had and decided to add pictures of the things I had accomplished, despite the odds. I'll have to include that in a future post, I think!]

And then...and then...this morning I woke up to THIS on my timeline on Facebook:

In case you were wondering, that was a spectacular way to start my day!

When I start feeling sad, and depressed, and lonely again, instead of going into my bed and hiding under the covers, I'm going to go into my new sacred spot and STUDY in my study. Assuming, Steven's not watching Golden State Warriors highlights...

The One in Which I Talk About my "Cancerversary", Part 1

Warning: Even though you can't see it, I'm probably going to cry like a little baby at points as I reflect on this challenging year.

A year ago today, I was admitted to Good Samaritan Hospital in San Jose with another focal seizure. I had a grand mal seizure (sometimes called a "tonic-clonic" - but that sounds too much like a combination of a gin & tonic - pleasant on a hot summer day -  with something unpleasant that celebrities do to cleanse their digestive tract. So, I'll stick with "grand mal", k?) in August 2014.

Then I had two focal or partial seizures within two weeks of each other in September. It's called a "focal seizure" because it's focused on one part of the body. For me, that was the left side of my face/jaw. Both times, I was alone, and I was terrified, but I put my big girl panties on and did what I could to stay calm. The second time, I was brushing my teeth when it started, so I was most scared that I was going to choke. I desperately tried to spit in the sink - even though I was quickly losing control of my facial muscles. and then, instead of lying on my side, I coughed and coughed as I got on all fours and tried to get the excess toothpaste and saliva out of my mouth.

The things that come into our minds at the oddest times: I was thinking of the movie "Defending Your Life" (if you haven't seen this movie yet, find it and watch it! It's beautiful and funny and touching all at the same time. If you have a macho-man that doesn't watch "chick-flicks", tell him that you have watched plenty of action/adventure movies with him and try not to call attention when he starts crying, too. P.S. Have tissues ready.)

Helpful Hint: I just checked, and it's available for streaming on Amazon Prime right now! Come on! Meryl Streep and Albert Brooks? What's not to like? Anyway... #freepass

As I was I crouched  there, on all fours...I was thinking about a scene in that movie. Meryl Streep's character is explaining how she died and how she felt when she died. He asks if she was scared. She says, "No. I was pissed." I was thinking that as I hung my head forward and let the toothpaste drip out of my mouth. I didn't want die like that. How undignified! I would be pissed, too!

Meryl Streep & Albert Brooks in "Defending Your Life"

But as you can see, I didn't die. In fact, when the seizure subsided, I didn't even call 9-1-1. I asked my daughter to drive me to the E.R. What was the point? I knew it was a seizure. I didn't need an EMT to put through the same neurological tests that they would do AGAIN in the hospital. "Put out your arms. Close your eyes. Follow my finger with your eyes. Smile for me. What a beautiful smile!" (which is clearly bullshit that they are trained to say in this situation. We're on to you!)

So, I skipped that, and we went right to Good Sams. My daughter, Katherine, must have been freaked out, but she stayed calm and drove through the morning traffic like a champ.

They called me in to the triage nurse - and guess what! They did the neurological rigmarole (see above) and sent me to a curtained area in the back. Meanwhile Steven was rushing from Livermore, splattered with grape detritus, because he was in the middle of 2014 harvest.  This time felt different for me though. I felt like I was not through with seizures for the day. And sure enough, not long after Steven arrived, I had another, stronger one, although not a grand mal. (Can I have a gin & tonic instead, please? Thanks!) An MRI scan was ordered.

That's when I was introduced to Ativan, to prevent another seizure. Ativan is pretty cool stuff. I recommend it in times like this. I would be willing to do a commercial for it if anyone is interested. (Hit me up with a text or email!) It's gotten me through several MRI's since then with the help of Ativan, and I'm REALLY claustrophobic. That's how cool it is.

We need a catchy motto, though. "Ativan. When an Advil just won't cut it." What do you think?

The news was not good. My MRI confirmed that there was a lesion on my brain. Doesn't that sound pretty innocuous? like skinning your knee. I can assure you that it is not. In fact, I bet dollars to donuts (Google that shit if you've never heard it. GAWD, aren't millennials silly sometimes? ) that if you had a choice between a lesion on your brain or skinning your knee, you would let your knee take the fall every time.

Especially if you get rad Scooby doo band-aids to go with it!

Surgery was scheduled for the next day. While I remained in my Ativan Dream-Fog, I'm sure Steven was feeling like he was in a nightmare. They suspected that the tumor was a Grade III, but they wouldn't know for sure until after the surgery.

The next day, September 24, 2014, we learned that I wasn't so "lucky". My tumor was a grade IV, glioblastoma multiforme. The news that you have a terminal illness is difficult to describe - and maybe not worth it because you can't possibly comprehend it unless you really experience it. Sort of like childbirth or a Springsteen concert. (Kiddies, don't talk shit about Springsteen unless you've seen him live. You have no idea.)

Springsteen Live = part concert/ part revival = Pure Joy

For two weeks after I got home from the hospital, I imagined my slow decline in health - my death... And then I decided that wasn't a very productive use of my time. And here it is, 363 days since then, and I'm still here. (Hmmmm.... I can't remember if last year was a leap year, and I'm too lazy to look it up. Google that shit yourself! Does it really matter? Details. Details.)

In Part 2, I'll fill you in on what it's like to survive one year with a terminal illness, and what's on my mind as I begin Year Two. I will tell you that if I work this hard on moving into our new house and have a quick demise, I am definitely going to PISSED.

To be continued...