March 29th, 2021

So - it seems that it has been awhile - over two years - since I've made an entry in this blog that started as a result and along side of a Lymphoma diagnosis. 

This entry begins on this note: The time for treatment has now come.  I will have my first round of Chemo- and Immuno- Therapy on April 1st. 

Yeah.  I know.  Only I'm not foolin'.

The biggest problem I am facing right now is this:  How do I reconcile the seriousness of the situation with the idea that this is not a life threatening situation?  When someone says "Cancer" or "Lymphoma" all of the red warning lights go off, the red flags go up, the words "death sooner than expected" begin to rise.  That is not the case in this situation - at least, that's not what I've been told, which matches with what I've read.  It is a serious treatment - but it will be over after 6 times/24 weeks if all goes as planned.  There is some maintenance involved - but that may be every other month - or it may take place in a pill form.

In other words, I don't have to worry about this killing me.  I guess I would like to find a way to talk about this in the same manner that two diabetics might compare their daily diet/shot regime: this is what it is - no more, no less.  It's just a thing that I have to do now.  I haven't had to do anything for 7 years - and now I have to do something.  And this is the treatment: beginning this Thursday, I will have an appointment for chemo (about 20 minutes in the chair), and then on Friday, I will have an appointment for immunotherapy (about 6 hours in the chair).   I will continue for 5 more rounds - 6 total.  I was hoping for 4, but my doctor is saying 6.  

My brother - God Bless Him (really - I love him bunches) - said, "What?!?!  You're not up for all 6?!?!  Deb - think about it.  You might meet someone - after all, you'll be sitting in a chair next to someone for 6 hours!"  Yeah - we even started talking Lymphoma dating service and  a web site.  And if you are not laughing right now, you do not understand the black humor in our family - for which I am ever so grateful.

When I sent the letter to them all to let them know what was happening in my neck of the woods, I was reminded of "early on" black humor shortly after the diagnosis.  I was playing spoons with my sister-in-law, my daughter, 2 nieces, a boyfriend of one niece, and my nephew.   My nephew and I were battling over the remaining spoon.  We battled for a good 10 minutes, and neither of us would let go of the spoon.  My daughter quietly said, "Mom - you haven't used the 'L' word yet."  Light Bulb Moment!  I said, with all the might I could must (which was quite a bit), "I am 60 years old, and I have Lymphoma - now give me the gottdamned spoon!"  to his credit - he did not let go.  The boyfriend was a little freaked, I think.  A PS on this recent letter with the updates had a "P.S.":  "Please tell my nephew that if this sad story does not get me the gottdamned spoon in perpetuity, then his hard heart cannot be reached."

So - today, I will be walking up and down carriage roads for about 5 miles - and I will continue to try to get in at least 10-15 miles/week.  It keeps the leg swelling at bay, and keeps me healthy.  It gets me outside which I love and where I thrive.  Tomorrow and Wednesday, I will try to get some paperwork done (annual reports) for a couple of kiddos so that I don't have to do them later when I "may" be having side affects (which, again, I am told are minimal).  I will plant flowers and vegetables and herbs and try to figure out how to keep the deer from eating them.  I'll be on Virtual Sings with friends who have been singing together since the 1980's. 

I'll be living - just as I always have - doing things that bring me pleasure.  I will have my arms open for whatever comes next and the next big thing - whatever that may be - as I stay as present as possible in this very valuable, very precious, very grace-filled moment. 

Much Love - from Me to You. 

March 31, 2019: Memories Made and Yet to Come

I have tried to reduce Fb use during this Lenten season - giving up something even though I am not a practicing Catholic.  I've limited myself to posting for birthdays, and a few "Likes" and "Loves" of loved ones.  Today, this Fb "memory" was posted.  It was from 7 years ago. 

"...did a little stretching, a 30 minute walk/run, a quick skim of the morning paper, and then breakfast at my favorite breakfast diner - Rosie's. When I got home, I tackled a week's worth of dishes, cleaned off a pantry shelf, and one drawer under the sink. Then I danced my ass off to two of my favorite songs on my Rocky Maffit CD.
      My life is like one of those puzzles with 15 numbered small squares and one empty space. I am imagining moving the furniture and space in my tiny house to match the shifts of energy that are pulsating through my life. One move cannot be made without affecting all of the other pieces.

 

      Sort of like life, yes? A celebration of connectedness as we shuffle through, relying on sudden moments of clarity to help us settle the remaining when one of the pieces in our world moves.
      The time to let go is now. The time to welcome the new is now. The time for embracing myself as human and divine was yesterday. But it's not too late. Today I'm climbing on the train and catching the ride. Wanna come?"

Whoa.   

Sometimes, I amaze myself.  

Those words...they came out of me?  

"The time to let go is now.  The time to welcome the new is now.  The time for embracing myself as human and divine was yesterday.  But it's not too late.  Today I'm climbing on the train and catching the ride." 

"Is it too late now?" I hear a small voice inside me ask.   

I could almost cry.   

A good friend - and the conversation we had this morning - helped me to an "aha moment."  I have been categorizing my next step for work into dichotomies.  Do I follow my head (and go with money over living in a place that I love), or go with heart (and go with living in a place I love, but perhaps be at risk financially)?  It has been "academics" or "clinical work."  Or perhaps "money" versus "location."  Or even "work" versus "job."  Or "work" versus "fun."  Somehow, in my humanness, my brain moves toward dichotomies.  It is much easier when the choices are "black" or "white" - even if the choices are "navy blue" or "violet blue."  It comes to only two choices.  Whether they lie at opposite ends or even next to each other on the continuum - no matter - my human brain moves choices that are infinite in number, to "2."  

Perhaps a better question to ask is this: What would it look like if all needs were met - a job that fits me and my gifts, that was also in a place that I love, and that also allowed a balance of life that supports health?  And might that place be where I could continue to grow spiritually?  And maybe the last question prior is really the first question:  Where might I continue to grow spiritually?  And that leads to the next question: "What does my spirit need right now?"  You see, I think that might be the biggest question that Spirit is leading me towards.   

I have some ideas about educating students and creating a workplace - ideas to which I've been led, I might add...ideas that have been dropped into my consciousness.  Where might be the place where they can be nurtured - and where I might be nurtured spiritually and physically as I nurture them?  

I am close to retirement.  Even as my voice fades and cracks, there is a piece of me yearning to sing and to make music with others...to build community - and perhaps, if not through music, then through other means.  

So, as I move forward, finding that match between what I want to do, what I think I can do - and what will nurture both of those things - seems so important.  There is a piece of me yearning to play, and a piece of me yearning to bring some of my ideas into physical manifestation.  And see there?  I've done it again.  Is there any reason why those two things - playing and working - cannot co-exist?

And when I am honest, there is this: a reluctance to grow up.  No - that's not accurate.  I have "grown-up" in too many ways.  Perhaps - better stated - it's a reluctance to do the work that seems to need doing.  It feels paramount and overwhelming..."I don't know if I can do it!  Do I really want to work that hard at this point in my life?  Can't I simply just begin to fade into obliviousness and retirement?"  So maybe, the honest statement is that I have had to be grown up in so many ways my whole life, that I now want to be done with responsibility.  Or, if I have to deal with responsibility, then I really want space in my life to be playful.  I have not felt playful in a really, really long time.  There is a reluctance to move towards responsibility without a balance of play.  

And even with this time off, I have done things that filled me - but I have missed the intimacy that is present with playfulness.  Without playfulness, life just feels so fucking heavy.  

And, of course, a position with money would support that.  Financial security allows for a certain amount of playfulness...approaching life knowing that I have a place to eat and sleep and, well - "play."  Life feels and seems lighter when I don't have to worry about money.  

And perhaps, there is a perfect position that can encompass all of this: money, challenge, fun, play.  It would allow my wisdom to be used in service, and still allow for laughter.  And wouldn't embracing my divine gifts, and then being willing to share them, be one step toward that vision?

"Embracing myself as human and Divine..."

How in the hell do I do that?

January 22,2019: Still Missing My Mom...

Tonight, I watched Mr. Church.  It stars Eddie Murphy.  I have been sitting and crying since the damn thing began - and it's been over for 10 minutes.

This past weekend, I was led to treat myself to a Raindrop Therapy session - a massage session chock full of essential oils.  The person to whom I was led also threw in some other oils that some fandangle machine had "discerned" that I needed.  The top three were as follows: 


Sage: Sage helps to stimulate the mind and promote mental clarity, warding off fatigue and distraction. Sage is an   antimicrobial and so can be used to help cleanse the air or surfaces within the home.

Believe: The Believe blend combines Frankincense with Idaho Blue Spruce and Idaho Balsam Fir to help enhance feelings of faith, strength, and mindfulness.






ICP:  helps to eliminate build-up in your intestines. By combining fiber from psyllium, oat bran, and flax, with fennel seeds -- this blend helps decrease waste buildup from the sides of the colon, helping to improve nutrient absorption and improve overall health. 


I could say "yes" to all of the above.  I'm not sure,  though, that they would "directly" address the sadness.  Yes, I'm still crying.  

Maya left for school yesterday.  We spent a couple of hours packing things into the car (very tricky, as the hatchback

door would not open), then loading things out of the car and into her new dorm space.  Today, I took over a box she forgot, some food she forgot, a curling iron that she forgot - and also some clothes in the dryer - yes, that she forgot.  All of that is another story - except that parting now is harder than it was before.  She has and continues to grow into a lovely young woman.  Wow.  Being around her is easier now - and we have a relationship - the likes of which I was unable to have with my own mom, given her early death.  

Maya is playing with the idea of her senior capstone project being a one-woman presentation (spoken word, performance - unsure of the actual form at this time) on "My Mother's Mother."  I found myself, one evening last week, reliving and sharing some of the stories from my mother's eventual last days of her life - my time with her when I knew she was dying sooner than I would like, but I was not able to say the words out loud. 

And as I sit here, typing and crying, I think, "Who could I call upon to sit with me?  Who could I call upon to witness this grief?"  And in the same breath, I'm not so sure I want to share this space with anyone...it's somehow very private...it can't be just anyone...

And as I continue to cry, I "HALT" myself:  Just had supper - big bowl of homemade chicken soup.  Not angry that I am aware of.  Not lonely, even though I am along.  I may be Tired, given that I am still recovering from being ill.  When I go inside, though, what I feel is grief and sadness.  And just when I think that the tears may be slowing down, I think "I miss my mom," and I'm gushing again. And maybe, this is finally it.  More missing my mom is needed.  It's time.  As my own daughter grows, as our relationship grows, I become more acutely aware of what I missed.

I went back and italicized that last sentence.  I think it is important.  This grief - it is something I am "growing into."  It wasn't there before.  I knew that I would not have times with my mom: she wasn't there when I married, nor was she there for the birth of my two children.  I missed her then -and anticipated that I would miss her.  

It is different now.  My daughter and I were thrown onto a "fast track" of maturing when I received a lymphoma diagnosis - we moved toward and then passed a stage my mom and I barely hit before she died.  And now, my daughter and I dance into and out of that "sweet stage" where mothers and daughters come to respect each other, see each other as people, and want the best for each other - no matter how much we drive each other crazy.  That's what I didn't get to have with my mom.  And now that I have tasted it with my daughter, I want it with my own mother.  What I said earlier is true:

As my own daughter grows,

as our relationship grows,

I become more acutely aware of what I missed. 

And now, it's been 40 minutes that the tears have been coming and going and that Mr. Church has finished.  

So that massage, those essential oils, - and oh, yes - the yin yoga with acupuncture directly afterwards - has opened me up and I am crying like I have not cried in years.  I am feeling sad like I have not felt in years.  I am grieving like I have not grieved in years.

I guess all I can say is this: It's probably about gott-damned time.

November 23, 2018 - Missing my Mom

It has been just 2 months shy of a year since my last entry.  As I looked back over the posts, I can see that I had worked myself to a good space.  Good on me!  

I have now been working part time since the middle of September.  I work for an agency that serves a preschool population, and have a caseload of approximately 10 children - most of whom I am scheduled to see twice weekly.  I do this in a very short school day: 8:45am - 2:00pm.  There are snack breaks, lunch breaks, bathroom breaks - and academic programming during the day.  I am reminded of how challenging it is to do good work in an academic setting. 

I have been teaching an online course.  My learning with online instruction has increased immensely - and while it is satisfying, I am finding that giving feedback over youtube videos is probably my favorite part.  There is an aspect of "performer" in me, and an even larger aspect of loving the human relationship, that makes online teaching more challenging.  

I am working with a group of clinicians-educators-scholars-researchers from across the country on expanding the definition of "evidence" and "evidence-based practice."  I enjoy that.  I also have ideas for how I would like to see evidence-building as an occupation taught in a curriculum - and perhaps even to students who are not OT's - but typical everyday students who must navigate this onslaught of information to which we may almost seem to be victims.

Additionally, I am realizing that I want to use this time productively. While money is tight - circumstances are not dire.  If I am to listen to Spirit's guidance, and to explore what is set before me, I must be sure to create space in which there is space to "be" and "hear" what I am being given. So far, as I move forward, I am discovering more about what I "don't" want, than what I "do" want - and this is good progress. 

Yesterday and today, here's what I am noticing: a profound sadness...profound.  I think I am missing my mom.  It may be more than grief for her alone, but grief for where I am at this moment in my life.  I am at a crossroads.  My children are grown.  I am no longer clear on my professional pathway.  I am no longer a "spring chicken," and am feeling tired - that the demands of academia are more than what my spirit can withstand; that the demands of everyday treatment with children are more than what my spirit can withstand; that my passion that burned so brightly when I came here may be slowly fizzling out; a disbelief that I surely cannot be at a place where I have nothing more to do with this wild and wonderful life than arrange my life to play.  When I think of what drew me here - I wanted leadership training - and came to Mercy to get it.  What I received was a lesson in politics, in my own deficits, and in owning my own story - but no support in growing into the person I thought I was becoming.  Not bad lessons to learn.  So, if that Garrison Keilor adage holds true (you know the one - “Some luck lies in not getting what you thought you wanted but getting what you have, which once you have it you may be smart enough to see is what you would have wanted had you known. ”),  - then, I can assume that I am on an accurate path.  

And now, as I ponder those words, and sit with my grief - my mother, the job, the realization that I thought I would be headed in one direction, but am finding that I, perhaps, was mistaken - I truly don't know what I want.  There is a piece of me that strives to move forward in a position of service that will use my talents...where my "doings" are not work, but acts of love...where mediocrity is not acceptable...where I am not bled dry...where there is balance so I have time and space for art, prayer, taking care of my body, and being with those whom I love...where money flows in a way that supports my needs and maybe a few wants...

My cousin stated that she was praying for the "perfect job" for me.  Before, when she told me this, I giggled and told her that the message I was getting was "to rest."  Perhaps my prayer should be this: "Trust in that.  Rest."  That would mean letting go of my financial worries.  And then, will I know when that perfect job appears?  Will I recognize it?  Perhaps these should be my prayers as well.    

I was distracted by something in my peripheral vision - it was moving across my floor.  When I looked down, I saw a rainbow - reflected through the prisms hanging in my kitchen window - one of two places where light enters my apartment.  And my small bowling alley, galley kitchen is full of rainbows that are reaching into this small hall space where I type.  It is a sign - sadness and grief, as well, sit in the light, and serve to bring us forward to our becoming.  

I feel like I am about ready for that "perfect job."  However, this may be fostered out of fear re: finances, rather than being truly ready.  My job today: make some soup; care for my body; care for my home; check my finances; listen as clearly as possible; ask for what I need - not only from myself, but from Spirit as well.  Prepare for whatever may come.

Namaste. 

February 19th, 2018: Reflections after Dancing

No pictures for you on today's post.  Google has changed how I access images from the web - and I don't have the patience how to figure it out.  Maybe later.

Today is Monday - the day after a dance weekend.  I started reading my old blogs - backwards from the last entry.  I can see now that last September I began having questions about staying with this job.  September 6th, I think.  And then, several posts mentioned that I was seeing and experiencing things with which I was uncomfortable, surprise at some of the faculty, pressure coming from the dean's office, etc.  Rather than stop it then, I continued to push forward.  Things ebbed and flowed - but mostly the job seemed to become bigger - I questioned: do I really want to do this?  I identified several things I needed to do differently - and began to move on those issues.  Then, the program assistant left - and I was thrown into the everyday details again.  And now, I have been relieved of those duties as of July 1st.  I no longer have to question whether or not I want to continue to do this job.  That decision has been made.
I have been writing for about 2 hours now, and I have just hit the delete button again.  I will continue to hash and re-hash the details with friends in real conversations - but not here.  I need to process the reality of the situation and process through the ugliness - but not here.  The conversations that I have with friends aren't the stories that I want to "stick."  They are stories through which I want to move, not stories in which I want to dwell.   Acknowledging the reality of the ugliness, yet not becoming a permanent citizen therein will be my challenge.  So - the delete button is my "noble assistant" in writing and purging, writing and purging.

Not much else to say except that I am feeling a "dullness" which I would say is from overworking - being tired and burned out from working too hard.  There is something about trying so very hard to make things right - and being unable to do so. 

And I am somewhat freed when I understand that making things right according to someone else's vision is so very much harder when that vision is opposed to one's own.  And with that freedom, comes a knowledge that making things right with one's own vision carries strength, courage, and a sense of responsibility: I am bound to writing my own stories. 

"Anxiety?"  "Yes," she answered. 

"Angst?"  "That, too," she replied. 

"Yet freedom?"  "Oh, yes," she quietly stated.  "Freedom."   

February 11th, 2018: Eleven Days Post Being Blind-Sided

In order to get comfortable telling the story, I have to tell the story.  And it will be important for me to stick to the truth, to keep out any hint of defensiveness or ugliness on my own part.  Simply, tell the truth.

Let's try this on for size: On January 31st, my dean told me that I would be stepping down as Program Director.  I will be relieved of my duties as of

July 1st.  I was told that I could continue on as full time faculty, and I will most likely do so - although there are still some things to be worked out.  This was a good opportunity for me, and I am grateful to have had it.  My efforts now will be focused on making sure that all is in order for the new director, who has been hired and will begin this July.

This feels true.  It feels honest.  It does not feel defensive to me - but I ain't the best judge of that.  I sent it to an OT friend, stating, "Given my 'transparency deficit' I feel like I need stand-by assist and also clearance before publication.  Thoughts and feedback?"

I have finally acknowledged that this is ugly.  And I have to ask, "WTF is wrong with me that I couldn't admit that from

the get-go?  Why do I try to make nice with an ugly situation? WTF?

Part of it is that I can take a pretty hard objective, realistic look, and say this: the new person looks a lot more qualified on paper - and she looks like she would be a better fit for the Dean.  That is honest.  However - here's where it is shitty.  There is no documentation that I've done a poor job. There was not nor is there management by objectives - so there is no objective way for my work to be judged.  There was not - nor is there - any plan of correction.  There was not, nor is there support for me in developing the skills that I need. 

Nada.  Zilch.  Cipher.  As my mother would say, "Period.  end of report."  I was not given a fair chance, and was blind-sided.  Done.  Own THAT, Deborah - but don't sit in it for too long.   

And the ugliness is in the process.  I thought we were interviewing for an empty position.  It turns out, we were interviewing for a program director - or at least it seems that the dean may have been.  Giving the timing, and given the person's surprise that pediatric (rather than research) courses needed teaching, it does seem as if there were two parallel - but not entirely separate - agendas during the recruitment and search & screen process.  

Here's the other thing: this feels like right action to me. As I stated in the post preceding this one, "I thought I was led

here to teach at Mercy.  I'm finding out that I was mistaken."  While I am feeling led to stay here in NY now, my next steps are unclear. 

OK.  We all know what the standing operating procedures are when that happens: 

                                                    

      It is time to increase my practice.  I am moving forward, and some directions will be helpful.  

February 2nd: Plucked by Spirit and Led Back to My Own Story

On January 31st, I was told by my Dean that I would no longer be the Program Director as of August 1st, and that I would be paid through August 31st.  At that time, I am welcome to continue on as faculty, teaching the pediatric coursework.

There.  That is the truth of the matter.  That was the first thing she said to me when I went to meet with her last

Wednesday.  When I asked her if she wanted to chat about

the questions I had brought with me, her answer was "If you want to."  Very non-committal.  She evaded answers, replying that the answers to some of the questions I was asking would depend on what I was going to do. Her answers to other questions I asked leads me to believe that there is little support for me there - and, as I reflect, there probably has never been.

Let's be honest.  Let's be candid.  When I review my most recent posts, I began questioning whether or not I could do this job last summer.  In October, there was a shift.  I have have openly stated, "since October, I have felt like someone was 'gunning' for me."

Because I am who I am, i.e., someone who is very reflective and perhaps who indulges herself with taking more responsibility than what is actually her own, my first 

strategy was to work harder.  As I slowly came to realize that there was not going to be a "win" for me in this situation, I started wondering if it was wise for me to continue in this position - asking myself, "Do you really want to keep doing this job?"  I wasn't so sure.  My plan was to give it six months, and I told the Dean as much last December. The Dean "called time" 5 months early this past Wednesday.  

Since the incident, I have been sitting with the multitude of feelings that come with something like this - you know the

biggies: feelings of being a failure; wondering what people would think; anger that I could not move forward with changes I was beginning; and more.  What is interesting, though, is that I don't seem to be sitting with "those" feelings very long.  As I look back over my 2 years here, I realize how very little support I have been given.  In some ways, I was set up and used - perhaps unwittingly - but set up, none-the-less. Saying that there was no way I was going to "win" is a "kind way" to say that I was "set up to fail."  This realization has been coming for several months - and it seems doubly evident (can something be "doubly" evident?) as I read over my last few entries.  

I am also realizing that I'm not feeling afraid....well, a little nervous...anxious...but it's not all fear.  I now have

permission to ask this question: Deborah, what do you want to do for the next three years?  What are your goals?  What do you want to be doing? And while I am asking that question, I am going to get paid. :-)  Not so shabby.

Let's be honest - again.  This job has been good to me and for me.  It got me here to NY.  It allowed me to pay off the nastiest educational loans my daughter had to take out, and has

helped me support my son in purchasing a vehicle.  It brought me to a place that fits with my active "hiker/camper" lifestyle,  yet is still "chock-full" of art, music, and intellectual discussions.  I have been happy here, and, even in the midst of this, remain happy.  Currently, this job is giving my daughter free tuition for this semester and the summer - and, if I choose to continue as a faculty for pediatric courses, my daughter will continue to have free tuition.  There is so much for which to be grateful.  I am such a Lucky duck!!!

The Dean actually used words that I have used very often:  "The match is not good."  I believe that this is true.  I am a

good match for Mercy, and I am a good match for the students - but the match between my dean and myself is poor, and the match between the program and how I work is also poor.  It is an "ill-fit" at best.  And it does neither of us any good to move forward without that

acknowledgement.  Now, as I reflect, I wonder if she needs someone she can mentor in her likeness.  That is not me - nor will it ever be.  She needs someone younger than me - or perhaps someone with fewer of his/her own ideas - or perhaps someone more moldable. Again - not me.  Ill-matched, she and me.  

And, if I am honest, I am not truly being of service to anyone or anything except the students.  The rest of what I do fills the needs of a somewhat ill-functioning program that requires way too much from its faculty for it to be sustainable.  I came to Mercy, and then became and am doing what the "system" required of me.  I am not feeling like I am being of service in the fullest sense of the word.  This job, right here and now, is not my calling.  That feels clear.  My dean's story is not my story, and it's almost as if I have been "plucked by Spirit" from a situation where I could easily become a player in a story that is not my own.

And speaking of callings, it is a hard choice for me on Sundays - going to worship or going hiking.  I have need of the movement, and I have need of the stillness.  And although I have not been regularly sitting, I am still very clear that Spirit led me here.  Now I find myself saying to Spirit, "Ok.  You got me here. Now - what was it you are leading me to do?  It is obviously not Mercy....the joke's on me!  You got me!  I'm listening!"  

Already, I am feeling the lightness of being able to open myself up to what might be around the bend, and to

explore how I might be of service with my skills and these few years I have left on this planet.  My friend last night said, "Deborah - you need to change all your passwords to "What do I want?  What are my goals for 2018?" so that every time I type in a password, I focus on what is needed.  I don't know about the "password thing," but I do know that she is right.  This is now my focus: not my job; rather, my next destination.

What a concept, yes?  To think that I had reached a destiny, and then find out that I was mistaken - that there is potential for things to get even better - that I can live here and do work that shares an equal exchange of energy, rather than doing work that is sucking me dry.  What a concept!!!  

QUACK!!  QUACK!!