advice and parmesan cheese...

The higher the rank in medical personnel, the less random advice you get about cancer. In other words, the captain of my ship oncologist gives me the facts, tells me how it's going to go and what I should expect. So, as I said, the higher the rank, the less they say. It's people like the woman who cleans my house who are consummate experts on cancer. I may have to let her go - I can't take it. The tech who takes my blood has stories also about her grandmother that I don't want to hear. She has no facts or knowledge about the disease but feels compelled to talk about random statistics or somebody who knew somebody who had heard that someone's aunt from their mother's side had had lymphoma and that it was super hard for her to fight it. They died early. Unnecessary information.

My captain is cool and collected - he knew from early on what I could take and what I could forgo. He has the experience to shut his mouth. I was high on Xanax when I went in for the news - I said the less I knew the better. The most horrific fears of mine have come from the well-meaning stories from strangers. Even in the ER, the doctor was driven by facts not what-ifs but the candy-stripper eighty year-old who wheeled the gurney told me about the blood clot in my lung. I don't have one but they were looking for one. Keep me in the dark about this crap. I don't even need a candle.

In just like all experience in life, you gain wisdom from nasty things. My dad died when I was twenty-three and it was one of my most horrible experiences. From that day forth I could talk about death and wasn't afraid to bring up someone dying to people who had lost a close family member. When you come across a widower, your first instinct is to NEVER bring his wife up or "go there." You would never want to "upset" him more than he already is. What people don't know is that he yearns to talk about his wife even if it makes him cry. It is a gift to bring her up and talk about what you both remember.

We are all going to die. We all know this but I am the one this week with the attention. Anyone reading this could have a building fall on them in an hour and yet we can't have the perspective of how precarious our lives are unless we are touched by an angel. I can't go on as to how much this experience has changed me about my entire family. I took so much for granted - even when Bruce would not "talk about feelings" and would want to "put parmesan" on it all things instead of having the appropriate words. What I gained from this is that the talk isn't so important, but the parmesan is. It is the deeds that are done from the friend who forgets to call you sometimes but is there at your grandmother funeral. She is there for you. Or the daughter who borrows your shoes, forgets to put them back, takes them to college and has no remorse. But then, she gives you something for Christmas that is so touching that it takes your breath away. It is in those simple gestures that relationships are built. But it is also in those gestures that we begin to take each other for granted.

I have spent the last few weeks terrified. No amount of conversation could have helped me to get by. But I started to become aware of things like the insurance my husband covers that amidst all the "I need to talk about feelings" horse manure, he had paid hundreds (and hundreds) of dollars for years (and years), so our out-of-pocket cost will be around 5K. My bills in just three weeks are over 50K. It is about appreciation for the power of the parmesan - we all forget how important it is. Most people can't even imagine keeping a marriage intact for eight years, and Bruce and I have been together for forty-two. Are we perfect? I guess not. Have we been distant? Sure. But in one hour, I began to understand so much more about who he is than before I had the cancer. I can preach this to you, but you still won't get any of this unless YOU get the cancer. Have I been touched by hell? I have. Can you learn something from my hell? Yup, sure, yup.

There are degrees of hell. My neighbor's child has cancer and that would be twenty times harder for me to endure than what I'm going through. I think of that horror in Japan which happened the same week as my diagnosis and I can't even even compare my loss. I have hope. Ask the mom holding her baby as the tsunami swept her away under the mud if she had hope? I am Queen Elizabeth. I sit on this throne called my bed with a bell and have huge hoards of people waiting on me. This is not adversity. Losing a child is adversity. The Petit family murder is adversity.

But the worst adversity of all is not appreciating what you have when it is right in front of your eyes. Look at the mother or father of your children again. Really look. Are they perfect? Do they have issues you don't understand? Do you feel like somehow things aren't what they used to be, and you don't think there is any buy-in from their part? Have you lost that loving feeling? Are you going to spend the rest of your life analyzing the mistakes or appreciating the parmesan? So, what is it?

It took being unable to feed myself, horrible physical pain, fear of blindness from a drug interaction, anxiety that the chemo may not working; not being sure if I will be able to endure sixteen more weeks knowing the protocol may change to eighteen more weeks of hell after this eighteen is over; it took smelling the fear of my death in an ambulance with an elephant on my chest. In one week I watched my husband take hold of all my needs like the best Jewish mother ever could. I'll have some parmesan on that please.

Check out your own partner. It is in their presence that is the present.

I'll put a bow on that.