Attitude and gratitude

I'm thrilled my surgeon was able to cut me open and remove my cancer, but thanks be to God for my physical therapist for repairing the damage. Thanks to her, my arm motion is greatly improved, and with it my outlook on life. I had my radiation simulation, which is when they do a CT scan to determine exactly how they’ll line up your body for radiation, and tattoo little dots on your chest to use as guidelines for each session. The plan is for me to start in two weeks (they’re busy), and to have 33 treatments, the last five of which are a “boost” to the scar area, which is apparently especially vulnerable.

The point of radiation, and of all of it, is to try to eradicate any cancer cells that may be lurking in my body. Cancer cells are tenacious, and even when you poison them with chemotherapy, cut them out with surgery, nuke them with radiation, there is still a decent chance they’ll sneak back to life at some unknown future time.

Hence the fourth prong of the attack: I’m to take an aromatase inhibitor for ten years to shut down estrogen production in my body. I shuddered reading the list of common side effects. I’ll spare you the details and give the take-home message: the stuff is old-ladyhood in a bottle. When I squirmed and asked my oncologist for clinical data on my chances of recurrence with and without Letrozole, she sternly told me this drug will reduce my chances of recurrence by 50 to 60 percent, and is basically non-negotiable. I procrastinated for eight days and then swallowed the first pill last night. Ten years. OK, sigh. I can do this.

My hair is beginning to grow in, all fuzzy and baby-like. It’s kind of patchy and uneven, and I figure it’ll be a slow process, but it’s nice to run my hands over my furry head. Oddly enough, my eyebrows decided to give up just as the hair up top began to return. I thought my eyebrows were critical to my sense of humanness but it turns out I barely noticed when they fell out.

It’s funny all the things we think are essential until we lose them, at which point we realize we can live with just about anything. It’s not always a great thing, this human adaptability. I remember an exhibit at the Museum of Science in Boston that fascinated me as a kid. It was a simple illustration of human population growth that said something like, “In the year 2020 (or probably some year that’s already gone by), there will be one person per 2.3 square feet.” Lines on the floor outlined the space, and we’d take turns standing in the square and imagining the entire world filled with people in their squares.

It was a horrifying image but I thought, that will never happen. People just won’t tolerate it. But for better or for worse, we humans will pretty much take whatever comes. There is a vast difference between our wants and our needs (if anyone figures out how to teach that to my kids, please let me know) – and right now my needs feel very simple. Food is essential; eyebrows optional. Warmth is important; two breasts, not so much. Sleep is key; all the stuff in my Juneau basement, dispensable.

Venison is edging close to the essential line in my life right now, and I’m pleased and just a bit proud-by-proxy to say "my" hunt was successful. Ben and our friend Kyle spent a day in 33-degree rain – a bone-wearying cold only Juneauites fully appreciate – boating and hunting and butchering. A few days later Ben gave two Styrofoam boxes of plastic-wrapped packets of nutritional gold to my friend Layla, who hand-delivered them to me on Bainbridge. “Here’s the carry-on carrion,” Layla said when she handed me her black hockey bag. Service with a pun; I am truly blessed.

At Layla’s insistence, I made her “super-iron” African-style palaver recipe as my venison opener. It was as delicious as promised and I gorged on it for two full days.[i] I swear I can feel my red blood cells plumping up already.

Last weekend Alder and I went to Boston for Thanksgivikah.[ii] I got to meet several of Rosie’s new friends and their families, and spent quality time with my own family and a few close friends who are still in the area. We did a jigsaw puzzle and jumped on pogo sticks and overate. I got a girls’ night with my cousins and sister-in-law where we gorged on Indian food.

My cousin Judith experienced the sudden death of her 38-year-old husband a few months after John died. It was a surreal double-whammy for our heretofore super-stable family, and Judith and her kids have been a huge source of support and kinship to me and my kids. “Love” isn’t really a strong enough word for the feelings Rosie and Alder have for their cousins on both sides of the family. They feel intensely connected despite growing up in Alaska, and I believe those connections – that feeling of being authentically and indelibly loved – are the most valuable asset they have. Apologies for descending into the trite; blame it on the season!

[i] Plasas or palaver stew

1 pound minced lamb, beef or venison

2 onions, chopped

2 pounds kale, finely chopped (or a big pile of any greens)

1 red or green chili pepper, de-seeded and chopped

½ cup peanut butter (or skip the chili and use a chili-spiced “artisan” nut butter like I did)

Cooking oil

Soup stock

Heat the oil and cook onions until translucent. Add the meat and peppers. When meat is browned, add kale. Add enough stock to cover. Boil, then cover and simmer 20-30 minutes. Stir in peanut butter. Cook ten more minutes. Add salt and pepper to taste. It’s good with brown rice or chunky pasta. Layla says it freezes well.

[ii] Thanksgiving + Chanukah. The two holidays coincided this year, spawning all sorts of memes, including my personal favorite, the menurkey, or turkey-shaped menorah. The best thing about Thanksgivikah is its ridiculous name; the worst thing is that it undermines the point of Chanukah, which is a trumped-up secondary Jewish holiday meant to assuage modern American Jewish kids’ Christmas envy. But this year’s Chanukah and its bounty will likely be long forgotten by the time Christmas rolls along. As will the drowned-out message of gratitude Thanksgiving is supposed to teach.