Tag: life

Happy Birthday

My 70th Birthday is tomorrow—Yikes! How did that happen and where did the years go. In February 2021, when I was 68, I got breast CA.

My 70th Birthday is tomorrow—Yikes! How did that happen and where did the years go to?

In February 2021, when I was 68, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. After two surgeries—a lumpectomy and then a mastectomy, I finally started chemotherapy on April 20th.  Two days later was Janet’s 69th birthday. I was feeling OK despite having had my first chemo infusion two days earlier, so when Bill invited me to her birthday party I decided to go. All her kids were there (except John, who has no interaction with his father), and they had a cookout. I managed to eat a hot dog, hamburger, and salad. The whole time I was there, Janet sat in her living room rocker, bundled up in a blanket. She was always cold because she had no meat on her—she was skin and bones. Everybody kept asking, “Mom, come and eat” at which she waved her hand in disgust, as if we were offering her worms, so she never had one bite. I started to speak to her when I first got there, and she conspiratorially said to me that she couldn’t talk because Bill would hear her. I told her that Bill was outside cooking with two doors closed and she still said her famous, “He has big ears.” I asked if he had bionic hearing, and she didn’t answer me.

I was told that day that the stem-cell transplant done for her MDS had basically stopped working and she had developed leukemia. Bill was talking about getting her another stem-cell transplant and the kids and I looked at each other with a silent acknowledgement that this was a crazy idea: that putting her through that horrific regimen would be a total mistake, and for what?  She had severe dementia at this point and I’m not sure how she got it but apparently, she had been in a steady decline for several years, according to April.

Fast forward to July 2021: April told me that she was not doing well. At first, she was in the hospital and Bill, in his hope to prolong her waning life, was still almost force-feeding her. This caused a huge rift between the kids, especially April and Bill. April just wanted him to stop trying to keep her alive and just let her go and he refused, thinking (selfishly) that he just didn’t want to say goodbye. Finally, they got her in home hospice with a hospital bed for the living room and that is where she stayed until she passed. At first April told me that it would not be a good idea for me to visit her since she was sleeping most of the time, but one day she texted and said if I wanted to, I could come over to the house that day because she was somewhat awake. I went over and she actually recognized me which gave me some solace. She was in and out of consciousness at that point and the hospice nurse said it could be any time. We were essentially on death watch. I don’t know the exact date that she died, but it was around July 20st or so. But on July 23rd her funeral was held. I know this so well because it was the day before my birthday. At that point I didn’t mourn her the way I would’ve if she had died suddenly, because she had been slipping away from me gradually over a period of years.

So, today, July 23, 2022, is a whole year since her funeral. She never even made it to 70. We used to joke that we would be in a nursing home and still trying to sell houses (that thing we did for a few years, among others, when I moved here}.

Now here I am, alone—my two best friends, Janet and Jane, have left me. I am now on the cusp of my 70th birthday and I feel so lost without them. Jane died a few years before, of what I do not know. She had MS, a heart condition, and diabetes, and she wasn’t even that old. When she died, I was so upset and devastated because I had just spoken to her recently and she seemed like she was doing well. Her family had all but abandoned her and they never even had an autopsy done to determine the cause of death. I suspect it was a heart attack. But the building super got into the apartment when nobody had seen her for a few days and found her. She was only 63.

I feel like a survivor, having gone through so much in my 60s, namely the horrific spinal tumor on T3 of my spinal cord, which prevented me from walking properly, and had constant nerve pain, a partially paralyzed thin right leg, which was cold to the touch from the knee down, etc. It was a nightmare and lasted for 4 months until it was diagnosed and I had surgery. Luckily, the tumor was benign as meningiomas usually are. Then there was the recent cancer diagnosis, and everything related to that—and here I still am—Still Standing (as Elton John’s song goes). Then of course there was the constant trauma due to having a mentally ill adult child living in the street.

I have been stressed and depressed about the idea that I would be officially OLD as DIRT, but now that the day has almost arrived, it is OK. I have a sense of relief that I basically look the same as I did last year and haven’t changed much. I always thought that when you turned 70, you were officially OLD and turned into a pumpkin. Wow, how that has changed. I see people like Becky who will be 75 in August, and she is on the go travelling all the time. She has an amazing zest for life that I wish I had. I asked her how she felt to be in her 70s and she said she loves it. Conversely, Margie will be 70 in December, and she said it didn’t bother her at all.

As of this writing, things have gotten infinitely better: I finished chemo and am on drugs to just prevent recurrence. I am grateful that it was Stage 1 and not metastatic and we want to keep it that way. Joseph has a subsidized apartment now (although he still has crazy thinking), he is on meds, seeing a shrink and therapist, and sounds somewhat sane when I speak to him (but not always). David now speaks to his dad, and Joseph which is monumental.

Yes, hopefully this next part of my life will be easier with less problems. But life is life and there are no guarantees that things will go smoothly, but if I keep on trucking, going forward one day at a time, try not to get bogged down with the small things (which is not always easy), try not to compare and feel jealousy (which is sometimes my nemesis), I may find that I can get through and maybe just maybe be happy. Happiness is something I almost never feel, but every once in a while, it comes over me when I am outside on a sunny warm day walking in the morning. It is sudden and swift and surprises me. It’s as if a ray of sunshine has opened up in my soul and I can breathe for a little while. The trick is keeping that feeling for more than just a few minutes. Maybe this is the decade that I will finally find the elusive and lasting feeling of happiness for no special reason other than just being alive.

One Second from Disaster

Why is it that some people seem to live a charmed life.  Nothing bad ever happens to them—they sail through life with nothing major going wrong.

Why is it that some people seem to live a charmed life.  Nothing bad ever happens to them—they sail through life with nothing major going wrong. That is my one question—why?

I get up in the morning with a vague feeling of anxiety that almost never leaves me. I am not one to feel sorry for myself and hate being on the pity pot. Yet I feel jealous of women with their big cleavages and think about what if they got this damn disease. How about all those women with their big manes of hair, so confident that nothing can touch them. Well, this fucking disease doesn’t care about that and this life is a mine field. You can be going along, all smug, posting your “best life” on Facebook, when suddenly your life as you know it comes to a screeching halt. That is how it is—we are all one second away from disaster.

When my friend Janet got the news that she had MDS (myelodysplastic syndrome) the disease which ultimately killed her, she called it the “train wreck.” That describes it exactly –a feeling of disbelief and confusion. Any faith that you thought you had is shaken. “How could this be?” you ask yourself, knowing that you are not invincible and the grim reaper has come to your doorstep.

Having had the big C 34 years ago, for some strange reason I felt that was it. I was sure that I would never get cancer ever again—that my turn had come and I came through it.  But that’s not the way things work in the world. So, I put my big girl brave face out there and made it my mission to fight this. I was determined to remain positive and I actually did. On the days I had an infusion for 3 hours I actually was in good spirits. I tried to analyze why that was so and I can only surmise that I felt cared for and loved. My friend would come over, bring me lunch, and we would chat. I guess you would say I did not suffer from many chemo side effects so I was lucky (or blessed depending upon where you come from).

I counted down the chemo cycles (I had 6) and posted pictures of me getting the infusion. People responded and I felt loved again. But a strange thing happened after the last cycle—I felt let down and depressed. One would think I would feel wonderful and relieved but I was just the opposite. I didn’t know what to do with myself and I simply felt abandoned. I was no longer special and my purpose in life, which turned out to be just getting through the chemo, was gone. I felt that I lost my purpose. I have been struggling to get that back and I am having a hard time. People don’t understand how I feel—they think I should be happy, happy, and grateful. I am grateful it is over but I am left with the residual fear of having this return. I think crazy thoughts and get into my own head that I somehow have metastatic cancer and I will surely die of this. I have a mammogram next month and my head tells me that I have cancer in the other breast now.  I speak to other cancer survivors and many of them feel like me, so maybe I’m not unique, but I still can’t shake these feelings.

Logically, I know that we must “live in the day” and not the past or future because you miss the beauty of the moment. Yet I catch myself thinking about 10 years down the road sometimes and it is frightening. I engage in the “what ifs” which only increases my anxiety because the future is fraught with those nasty mine fields.

I know this is not exactly a very inspirational piece but this is how I feel. I have kept this inside of myself and whenever someone asks me how I feel, I simply say, “Fine” or “OK” when I really want to say, “I am fucking depressed and anxious”. But nobody wants to hear that—all they want to hear is that you are good so they can feel good too.

Jane – A tribute

Dear Jane,

It is Friday night and I keep thinking I’m going to pick up the phone and give you a call. You are one of the only people who understand about my son’s difficulties because you have been through it too. You are my go-to person for life’s injustices, life’s tragedies, life’s funny moments and I can talk to you about anything on earth and you to me. I’ve been there through all your hospitalizations, through your difficulties with your family, and you have been there for me in kind. Yesterday I pulled out my old wedding album so I could remember you as the maid of honor, happy, young, and vibrant. It is so hard to wrap my mind around the fact that I will not see you again, except in Heaven, God willing.

We were good friends when we were teens up until our thirties but, as life took us in different directions, we somehow lost contact. We reconnected and again lost contact—this time I was sure our friendship had run it’s course. But one day, out of the blue, you called me and as if no time had passed at all, our bond was still strong and became stronger in the years that followed. I have shared so much of my travails about my child, my inexplicable crippling illness and subsequent recovery upon discovery of the cause (a benign spinal tumor), my ups and downs with my son, and everything in between. Sometimes I would call you and we’d have a marathon talking session about everything, including movies, Stuyvesant Town, old shows, friends, medical issues, family, politics—-you name it, we talked about it. You have been one of my greatest support systems and I feel that I filled that role for you too. I honestly don’t know what I am going to do without you.

To say I was shocked to learn of you passing was the understatement of the year. The last time I spoke with you, you said, “Call me anytime.” So, last Friday night I called to get my weekly dose of love, friendship, laughter, and wisdom from you. When you didn’t pick up I left a message. Three days later I called again, and again, and again, for days and days. At first I was annoyed, then I thought that maybe you were in the hospital again, although you had been doing very well lately. Everything seemed under control with your MS, which was in remission, and your diabetes, which didn’t seem to be an issue. I had no reason to believe that a tragedy had occurred. In my heart of hearts I was frightened and would not even entertain the idea that you had passed away. It was unfathomable to me so I dismissed it for days. But, yesterday something told me to call your brother’s number, which you had given me a few years back just in case. When I spoke with your sister in law, and she said, “I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Jane passed away”, it felt like there was an explosion in my chest, and a punch to my gut—then the tears and disbelief came.

Jane, you had a very hard life, and a lonely existence up in Lockport, with no real support system. But you became a strong advocate for yourself and still managed to accept some of the seemingly unfair blows life dealt you with characteristic grace and dignity. About a year ago you said you were sitting on the couch watching TV when you saw your mom in the dining area. I asked if you were asleep and you said, “No, that was her.” I asked if you were scared at all and you said, “No.” I believe that your mom appeared to let you know you were loved and she was waiting for you to come over soon. I do not know the exact cause of your demise, but I suspect that it was peaceful, in your sleep. Although I am grieving this loss, I am happy for you at the same time, because at long last you are loved in a way you were not in this physical life. You are, as I write this, in God’s loving arms and with your mom. Your body is healed from your MS and you have no more physical or emotional pain—nobody can hurt you now. You are walking, running and laughing freely and finally at peace. I know you are looking down on me now and thinking of all we shared and how we could sometimes find humor in the strangest places. I prayed to God last night that you appear in my dreams to let me know you are indeed OK. But, I somehow know that you are. Sweet dreams in eternity. You will never be forgotten. Godspeed. Call me anytime!

Love Marilyn

Aging

When you’re a kid you think you are invincible and the thought of “growing old” is not even in your consciousness. When I tell childhood stories I sometimes want to describe people as an “older person” but then I have to pause and think, “Everyone seemed much older than they probably were”. So, I really don’t know if my description is accurate. Who knows, they might have only been in their 30s or 40s, but to a child that is pretty old. But it ‘s funny how your definition of “old” changes as you rapidly approach the age you considered old. I remember being so depressed when I turned 26 because I had passed that magical number of 25, which meant that I was closer to 30 than 20. In my mind, 30 was officially a “real adult” and, although I was a mother already by 19, I still thought that I was a kid. But, when I passed 30, then 40 became the new “old age” for me. Each decade, I raise the bar on what it means to be “old.” Since when did 40 become “young?’ How about 50? To me that is now “young” or at least still “young.” How many times have I heard myself saying lately, “They’re not that old”, referring to someone in their 70s. The fact remains that the world is geared to youth and no matter how “young” you think you look, feel, or act, you are not young, and you are often treated as such. People say that age is just a number, and you can remain “young at heart”, be active, athletic, keep yourself in shape, but time is rapidly advancing, and it seems the older you get, the faster the years go by. I remember endless summers, being the playground champ, spinning tops, playing Skelly, melting bottle caps on manhole covers, eating Good Humor sold by old man Joe, the ever present ice cream man. Then, going home for dinner only to go out again in the evening. I was athletic and that was my life during those magical summer days and nights. It seems almost as if those days were just yesterday, and I sometimes wake up and think, “how the hell did I get to be this old and when did this happen?” I remember hearing about “the Golden Years” but I have recently found myself thinking that is such a fallacy. Often the “golden years” are fraught with age-related illnesses, even if you think you are healthy. With aging often comes a gradual betrayal of your body. There are exceptions, and I believe that if you keep yourself in good physical condition, taking care of what is so precious, you may skip the extreme decline. But the thing about life is that unless you have a crystal ball, or a link to God, you don’t know what the future holds. I am a firm believer that we should live NOW, and not look too far into the future. The media is famous for preaching about the evils of retiring too early (taking your Social Security too soon). I laugh when I see these dire warnings because I know from experience that life is very fragile and you should take your happiness now, if you can, rather than later because later may never come.

M & M

A little background: Many years ago (1980) I worked in Manhattan at Blue Cross Blue Shield. At that time, I was a medical claims examiner/correspondent. I was crazy about this gorgeous young man who sat diagonally across from me on the other side of the floor. I had the feeling he was attracted to me too, but he was too shy to do anything about it. My friend I worked with used to say, “He’s just slow on the uptake.” I realized I had to take matters into my own hands. So, one day while at work, I wrote this little fantasy story about the 19th floor and our boss, Barbara. I left this hand-written story on his desk and waited until he returned. I could see his desk from mine and was gratified that he was laughing. The story is a bit dated (CRT – This was the computer that we all used in the middle of the floor), but I think it still holds up. We ended up getting married eventually. Although we are no longer together, we are still friendly.

BCBS Story – 1980

Once upon a time, in the far reaches of the universe, there existed a large corporation named Blue Cross Blue Shield.
In the vast expanse of the 19th floor, a queen emerged named Barbara. Queen Barbara would sit on her throne for hours at a time issuing her imperial orders to her royal court.
In a small section of the floor, there resided a conscientious young man named Mark, better known as M. Now M was a very hard worker who carried out the Queen’s orders to a tee. Whenever she needed something done, she knew she could count on M to follow through.
On the other side of the floor, sat a not-so-conscientious worker named Marilyn, also known as M. Because of the similarities in their names, people often confused the two. The only difference was that one M had a mustache and the other one didn’t.
But, lo and behold, one day M shaved off his mustache and the office was in turmoil. No one could tell them apart.
Queen Barbara was beside herself. She would call for her bowl, call for her pipe, call for her fiddlers three, and call for M. But being unable to distinguish between the two Ms, she became totally confused, often to the point of disorientation.
One day she bellowed from her office, “M, please come here; I need your assistance!” Well, as usual, both Ms came into the office, causing a total look of confusion to come over the Queen’s face. With this, she ran screaming from her office, never to be heard from again.
Now the diligent workers of this vast organization were without guidance. They desperately needed someone they could look up to and trust; someone with the wisdom of a King, yet the understanding of the commoners—someone with a vast knowledge of Special Service and surgical-medical contracts—someone who could be hard yet soft at the same time and could mingle with the lower echelon of the Corporation. Who better than M? But which M was it? Was it M or M?
Since it was totally impossible to tell them apart, the loyal subjects voted to make both Ms King and Queen of the 19th floor, and to have them share the throne.
As the years passed, and people came and went, the two Ms continued to rule wisely but firmly. Their popularity never dwindled. So, if you ever find yourself trapped in a maze of uncertainty about surgical-medical contracts, the CRT, or life in general, visit the humble office on the 19th floor where the sign reads: M & M