 Some Days You Gotta Dance ------Dixie Chicks Some days you gotta dance Live it up when you get the chance 'Cause when the world doesn't make no sense And you're feeling just a little too tense Gotta loosen up those chains and dance You gotta loosen up those chains and dance Come on and loosen up those chains and dance. Some days you have just! got! to! dance! And today, I am a-dancin' in my body, mind and soul!!! Whooeee, do I feel great! |
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Some days. . .
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Games People Play
Growing up in Montana in the 50's and 60's, and spending summers at my grandparent's ranch, we entertained ourselves "of an evening" with a variety of indoor and outdoor games: No Bears Are Out Tonight and Kick the Can were really big hits. Since nothing beyond Ed Sullivan and Lawrence Welk graced the tube (yes, one station!), we often found ourselves at the card table playing canasta with our larger than life Grandad who slapped cards down on the table with a great "whop!", predicted in booming, definitive tones that the next card was sure to be HIS winning card, and danced in glee around the table when he won a hand--just like a hugh St. Bernard puppy.
My best childhood friend, Colleen, and I would spend hours at her family's kitchen table playing Gin Rummy. Col was a shameless card cheat--peeking and stacking the deck and cackling in delight when she won--fairly or unfairly, it was all the same. I was challenged to thwart her nefarious ways and it all became a game within a game. We are best buddies to this day, but believe me, I know the meaning of playing my cards "close to the chest"!
And now, my family will tell you that I am a sicko game player--Scrabble, crosswords, Tabu, cards, puzzles, you name it. I love to play games. I can (and have) spent many happy hours waiting at airports, in flight, on car trips, in the chemo cocktail lounge, playing games to pass the time. My son Michael regularly kicks my butt in Lexulous now-- my daughter Casey prefers to wax me in Spanish Scrabble. I consider it a personal victory that they both play games with their friends and me.
But, ten years ago I discovered Mahjjong and, Sistah, it was all over. Mahjjong (spelled as many ways as it is played) is an ancient Asian game played around the world by Asians, Jewish women, military wives, business networkers and my friends (all of the above). The game is played with hefty tiles which are used like cards to build winning hands (according to the RULES, Colleen!) and engages all the senses: the smooth feel of the tiles, the sound of their clicking as they are discarded, the sight of the Asian characters on the tiles, and the smell and taste of the noshes always served during play. Okay, okay, so food is not part of the game, but it is definitely part of the tradition.
I introduced Shelby to the game, and true to her nature, she now knows more about Mahj than just about anyone and is on a first name basis with the experts in the field. There are cruises and tournaments and neighborhood games--Shelby has done all of them, and won at all of them. We play regularly with friends and, when desperate, play our own highly irregular two handed version. We have taught 22 newcomers and secured our own special circle of players (taught correctly, may I say) who have raised both the competitive bar and the laughter quotient! Needless to say, Mahj is an illness all it's own.
And to what use? Idle entertainment for someone with too much time on her hands? A waste of time? Useless pursuit? Or perhaps something else? For me, the games I play have created close friendships that have translated to a spectacular array of supporters during my fight against cancer. My game buddies have been here whenever I need them--bringing food, flowers and thoughtful or gag gifts; being available for conversation, transportation, overnight stays when Steve is out of town. Colleen regularly sends me encouraging bundles from Utah where she lives and I receive humorous cards and uplifting stories from the Texas Tiles, a special group of women who Shelby and I taught to play Mahj last February in San Antonio. Michael and his girlfriend and my friend Ruth in Georgia are on line with me regularly playing word games. All of this has brought me through four months of isolation during chemo in good cheer and entertained without feeling isolated. As a wise young man recently said to me: "life without relationships is no life at all."
To celebrate the end of chemo, I had a small paMahja party with pizza, special t-shirts, and plenty of goofiness during the evening here at home with my regular Mahj group. And several decades later, I can still hear Grandad's booming voice and see his Saint Bernard dance as he looks at my entire group of friends and trumpets:
My best childhood friend, Colleen, and I would spend hours at her family's kitchen table playing Gin Rummy. Col was a shameless card cheat--peeking and stacking the deck and cackling in delight when she won--fairly or unfairly, it was all the same. I was challenged to thwart her nefarious ways and it all became a game within a game. We are best buddies to this day, but believe me, I know the meaning of playing my cards "close to the chest"!
And now, my family will tell you that I am a sicko game player--Scrabble, crosswords, Tabu, cards, puzzles, you name it. I love to play games. I can (and have) spent many happy hours waiting at airports, in flight, on car trips, in the chemo cocktail lounge, playing games to pass the time. My son Michael regularly kicks my butt in Lexulous now-- my daughter Casey prefers to wax me in Spanish Scrabble. I consider it a personal victory that they both play games with their friends and me.
But, ten years ago I discovered Mahjjong and, Sistah, it was all over. Mahjjong (spelled as many ways as it is played) is an ancient Asian game played around the world by Asians, Jewish women, military wives, business networkers and my friends (all of the above). The game is played with hefty tiles which are used like cards to build winning hands (according to the RULES, Colleen!) and engages all the senses: the smooth feel of the tiles, the sound of their clicking as they are discarded, the sight of the Asian characters on the tiles, and the smell and taste of the noshes always served during play. Okay, okay, so food is not part of the game, but it is definitely part of the tradition.
I introduced Shelby to the game, and true to her nature, she now knows more about Mahj than just about anyone and is on a first name basis with the experts in the field. There are cruises and tournaments and neighborhood games--Shelby has done all of them, and won at all of them. We play regularly with friends and, when desperate, play our own highly irregular two handed version. We have taught 22 newcomers and secured our own special circle of players (taught correctly, may I say) who have raised both the competitive bar and the laughter quotient! Needless to say, Mahj is an illness all it's own.
And to what use? Idle entertainment for someone with too much time on her hands? A waste of time? Useless pursuit? Or perhaps something else? For me, the games I play have created close friendships that have translated to a spectacular array of supporters during my fight against cancer. My game buddies have been here whenever I need them--bringing food, flowers and thoughtful or gag gifts; being available for conversation, transportation, overnight stays when Steve is out of town. Colleen regularly sends me encouraging bundles from Utah where she lives and I receive humorous cards and uplifting stories from the Texas Tiles, a special group of women who Shelby and I taught to play Mahj last February in San Antonio. Michael and his girlfriend and my friend Ruth in Georgia are on line with me regularly playing word games. All of this has brought me through four months of isolation during chemo in good cheer and entertained without feeling isolated. As a wise young man recently said to me: "life without relationships is no life at all."
To celebrate the end of chemo, I had a small paMahja party with pizza, special t-shirts, and plenty of goofiness during the evening here at home with my regular Mahj group. And several decades later, I can still hear Grandad's booming voice and see his Saint Bernard dance as he looks at my entire group of friends and trumpets:
NOW THAT'S A WINNER!
Jody, Alice, Judi and Shelby
at the paMAHJa party
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Taming Medusa's Snakes
10 PM August 2, 2010. "Linda, this is Dr. Lilly. We got your report back and it is cancer." Direct and to the point--delivered gently. I actually apppreciated that. No tap dance around the facts.Generally, when things go kablooey on me, the image of Medusa with her hair full of snakes comes to mind. Not the mythology that goes with her, just those damned snakes circulating through her head! It is a perfect depiction of me at my most overwhelmed--thoughts, fears, questions, too much information and I can only describe it as "my head is full of snakes". And that is how I felt for the first several days after diagnosis--too much information!!
Stages. grades, genetics, surgeries, reconstructions, radiation, anti-hormone therapy drugs, implications--well you can choose your own expletive. I had to get my head around a lot of information, quickly, and with available resources provided by my doctor and Steve's research on the net, believe me there was plenty to consider! So, this is about how we tamed the snakes. And if this can help guide or calm someone else, please share it.
In a panic, I called a friend (who had fortuitously materialized as the nurse at my biopsy). She soothed me and coaxed me back from the edge of the precipice.The jist of Jenny's message to me was:
Since you do not have all the information back yet, be careful not to rush to judgment about major decisions
Remember that this is not a medical emergency and you have time to make an informed decision.
She calmed my fears and gave me time to step back and consider: what can I do to manage all this information? Despite my willy-nilly creative side, I have an analytical mind, when needed, and I decided to revert to my business days and use a decision tree analysis to see where it led me. "If this, then what?" Wow! Did that ever help!
I started with what I knew about my cancer to date: type, stage, pathology then began the tree below: "If this, then what?" Each step forced me to understand my options and gave me questions to ask various members of my care team. The chart changes as additional information comes to light and as decisions are made based on that information.
This methodology also prepared me for the free second opinion clinic at Riverside Hospital staffed by a surgeon, reconstruction surgeon, Medical Oncologist, Radiation Oncologist, pathologist, radiologist, and nurse who spent three hours with my husband and me--reviewing the reports, answering questions, making recommendations. By the way, they were very impressed with my little tree. Must be the landscaper in me. :-)
I will be glad to guide you through your own decision tree if you like--it worked wonders at taming all the snakes in MY head. Just contact me through comments and we'll talk. And, oh by the way, it was enormously helpful in explaining to my adult children and to family and friends who asked about the options available to me. Very calming. . . to feel I had control of the information.
So, here's how mine looked. Hopefully you can read it and hopefully it will help calm your fears. My offer of help is totally sincere. If you cannot read it, I can email it to you in PDF form. Just ask.
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