Practice Five: What Really Matters?
This week my body looks like a relief map of a Northern European Sea with dark blue hillocks and long waves of yellow and purple. A new anti-coagulant medication for atrial fibrillation has turned my 77 year old skin from mostly pink to mottled blue, with as many bruises as normal areas. I would not wear a bathing suit just now. The bruises don’t hurt, and although they were shocking when they first began to appear, I mostly cover them with long pants and long-sleeved shirts — which might be challenging temperature wise in some parts of the country in August — but in Northern California it has been mostly cloudy and 65 degrees.
I’ve learned so much about humility in the last year. I have a polka dotted body (I really like to wear polka dots — maybe this is the universe’s revenge). My energy has diminished. I need to dole it out with precision so that it lasts through most days. When it doesn’t, I sit and read. I have learned to ask friends, family, and particularly my husband for help that I wouldn’t have dreamed of asking for until recently. He has been used to being waited on for most of his life. Now he changes our bed on Saturday mornings, and brings in the groceries. My step-daughter noted a few months ago that I had stopped needing to be superwoman. No, I didn’t stop needing to be energetic and accomplished. Cancer and heart disease did.
Others tell me I look the same (with clothes on). I still care very much that I dress well, wear make-up most days and get regular stylish haircuts. But I’m not the same inside.
I’ve learned two things that I’ve known intellectually all my life, but experientially, only this past year. Of course, we’ve all learned things in the last year or more, that we may never have needed, or wanted, to learn before. I’ve learned that I need other people. I know, that’s obvious. But I’ve been a pretty independent and headstrong woman for most of my adult life — some because I had to be, and some because I was self-protective and didn’t want to repeat early hurts at important others’ hands. I both can’t afford to continue to be that way, and I don’t want to. I want to hold my husband’s hand. I want to talk to my youngest daughter whose politics scare me. I want to have a birthday party for my step-daughter, even if it turns out I run out of gas. I want to host my Wisconsin grandson for a few weeks.
The second thing I’ve learned is that I’m going to die. Again, obvious. But I know that now in a way that I didn’t know it before. For my whole life, my body has been my friend, a pal I could occasionally abuse with too much food or alcohol, exercise with increasing pleasure even if the end result was fatigue or even exhaustion, and overextend with only short-term consequences. My first boss told our regional team in her introduction of me that I had two speeds: flat out and stop. If I was sick, it was with a flu, a cold, or some other something that came and went fairly quickly.
My cancer isn’t going away. Neither is my heart condition. Just today, my cardiologist emailed me to say “your atrial fibrillation is not under control.” I did not need him to tell me this. His suggestion: more medication. My imagining: I’ll look like a purple alien in no time at all. I replied that I wanted to explore other options (there are some).
So, what really matters is that I act in a positive way on these two learnings on a daily basis. I want to spend my energy and time with my three best friends, my three adult daughters, my three adult step-children, and the grandchildren with whom I have special relationships. Today I have spent really good time with one of my best friends, my youngest daughter, and my step-daughter. My youngest daughter noted in our conversation that I was/am an impatient listener. She’s right. More about that another time. Suffice it to say here that I’m pretty sure I was present to all three interactions.
I am in communication with my medical advisors on a daily basis. I spent time on a video call with my oncologist this afternoon. I emailed my cardiologist. Some days this feels maddening because it takes so much time. I know that I need to spend the time. I also know that I need to make my own final decisions about next steps (such as medication and procedures) and not just go along with recommendations. As I’ve noted, I want to reduce the anti-coagulants (due to the bruising), and investigate other non-drug options for atrial fibrillation.
These two learnings have many other implications. I want to do more art. For a long while during the pandemic, I took online art classes. I didn’t love all of them, but I learned something in each of them. I want a permanent space in our home in which to do art.
I want to spend more time writing. My two Zoom writing groups (they were live before Covid) have encouraged me to continue with this series and to share what has worked/is working for me to stay positive in this health challenge. I’d thought since the publication of my last book (2007) that I would have one more in me. I think I do have a book about the joys and challenges of aging, but publishing is a way different animal than it was 15 years ago. In non-fiction, at least, one has to be famous BEFORE one writes in order to get the attention of any major or minor publisher. I don’t want to self-publish. My hat is off to all who do. I don’t have the strength to do the marketing of a book entirely on my own.
While I do keep my two learnings front of mind mostly, I also have to decide on a day-to-day basis, what’s important. On the spur of the moment, after today’s writing class, I asked my husband if he wanted to join me for lunch at our favorite restaurant and read the paper while I spent my birthday coupon at my favorite clothing store (conveniently up the street from my favorite restaurant). He said, “Let’s go!”
We ate our favorite foods at that favorite restaurant and then Murray accompanied me to my favorite dress shop. For all of you who have tolerant partners where shopping is concerned, I do not ordinarily have such a partner. This was a gift, and a special birthday one.
