Anne Higgins is one of Deb's oldest and dearest friends and, through the years, has become one of mine as well. Anne is a published poet with numerous collections of her work in print. (You can find several of them on Amazon.com if you're interested...)
In her latest collection of poems, titled How the Hand Behaves, she includes one describing her response to a juggling performance of mine at a local street fair.
It's titled (not surprisingly) "The Juggler," and she's given me permission to reproduce it for you here. It goes like this:
********************
The Juggler
Spinning a tin plate
on a drumstick,
he beckons the little girl
put up your finger.
He transfers the tin plate from the drumstick
to her finger.
There's a serious intensity
to his whimsy.
His face red with exertion,
heat of the summer evening
at the street fair.
Two deep ridges furrow his brow.
His hair short, shoe brush bristly,
wired with gray as
his stubbly beard.
All his brainpower
poured into the juggling.
Hand-eye coordination,
two knife sharp eyes.
At sixty, he maintains his body
like a fine old Volvo -- running smooth.
Introvert who juggles
time, cash, yardwork,
computer,
all of that.
Now there's a lovely silver ball,
tangerine sized, translucent,
which rolls along his hand,
up his forearm,
twisting at his elbow,
down the other side and
back into the palm,
rolling of its own volition.
********************
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Words That Sustained Me
Last Spring and Summer, a remarkable number of people sent me "Get Well" cards. To me anyway, it was certainly a remarkable and totally unexpected number: there were over 40 of them. And there were all the sweet and supportive things folks wrote here in the blog. And then there were many e-mails -- often written by folks whose software wouldn't let them comment on the blog.
But I'm writing today about the cards.
The cards have been displayed on our mantelpiece since they arrived, but it's time now to collect them and tuck them into an envelope for safe keeping. Christmas cards are arriving -- and the "Get Well" cards have already worked their magic.
Many of the cards contained words that slipped right through all my defenses and neuroses, my anxieties and fears, and touched my heart. There were phrases in these cards that would echo through my mind as Deb and I drove to yet another treatment session, yet another doctor's appointment.
And I thought I would share some of them with you, with the hope that you will never need them. Some of these words were pre-printed on the card and some of them were written by the sender. When you think about it, it probably doesn't matter...
The first one is the one that touched me most deeply -- and still brings tears to my eyes:
"At the times when it's most difficult to believe that there will ever be better days ahead, I will be here to do the believing for you..."
Others (in no particular order) include:
"Recovery is more than a mending of the body... It is an easing of the mind, a calming of the heart, and a healing of the spirit."
"Remember that with lots of hair or some hair or no hair, you are still Randy!"
"Wishing you tranquility, and hoping you know how much you are loved."
"May you have strength at your backdoor, so you have it when you need it... May you have courage in your pocket, so you know where to find it... And, always, may you have hope in your heart, so you never misplace it."
"Sending you support and encouragement... Know that I care."
"Rest. Renew. Restore. Heal. Be well."
"I'm not sure what to do, I'm not sure what to say. But one thing's for sure... I promise to pray."
"I know you are strong. You have a dear, caring helpmate and many friends who are hoping and praying for your full recovery. Count me as one of them."
"I believe in mystery and miracles and the magic of a new day. I believe in angels and natural wonders and the beauty inside people. I believe in rainbows and happy endings and dreams-come-true... I believe in a bright-and-shining tomorrow ahead for you."
"There is a circle of caring all around... and you are right in the middle."
"The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it."
Last, but certainly not least, I received a card from my dino-hunting buddies in Alberta. Eight folks wrote notes inside the card and signed it. And almost all of the messages included the magic phrase: "next year."
It is, I think, unavoidable that -- from time to time during an extended series of treatments like mine -- you will feel utterly alone and that no one could possibly understand what you were going through. And it was during these times that the evidence of the cards came roaring into my life and said: "You are not alone! Not now. Not ever."
But I'm writing today about the cards.
The cards have been displayed on our mantelpiece since they arrived, but it's time now to collect them and tuck them into an envelope for safe keeping. Christmas cards are arriving -- and the "Get Well" cards have already worked their magic.
Many of the cards contained words that slipped right through all my defenses and neuroses, my anxieties and fears, and touched my heart. There were phrases in these cards that would echo through my mind as Deb and I drove to yet another treatment session, yet another doctor's appointment.
And I thought I would share some of them with you, with the hope that you will never need them. Some of these words were pre-printed on the card and some of them were written by the sender. When you think about it, it probably doesn't matter...
The first one is the one that touched me most deeply -- and still brings tears to my eyes:
"At the times when it's most difficult to believe that there will ever be better days ahead, I will be here to do the believing for you..."
Others (in no particular order) include:
"Recovery is more than a mending of the body... It is an easing of the mind, a calming of the heart, and a healing of the spirit."
"Remember that with lots of hair or some hair or no hair, you are still Randy!"
"Wishing you tranquility, and hoping you know how much you are loved."
"May you have strength at your backdoor, so you have it when you need it... May you have courage in your pocket, so you know where to find it... And, always, may you have hope in your heart, so you never misplace it."
"Sending you support and encouragement... Know that I care."
"Rest. Renew. Restore. Heal. Be well."
"I'm not sure what to do, I'm not sure what to say. But one thing's for sure... I promise to pray."
"I know you are strong. You have a dear, caring helpmate and many friends who are hoping and praying for your full recovery. Count me as one of them."
"I believe in mystery and miracles and the magic of a new day. I believe in angels and natural wonders and the beauty inside people. I believe in rainbows and happy endings and dreams-come-true... I believe in a bright-and-shining tomorrow ahead for you."
"There is a circle of caring all around... and you are right in the middle."
"The human spirit is stronger than anything that can happen to it."
Last, but certainly not least, I received a card from my dino-hunting buddies in Alberta. Eight folks wrote notes inside the card and signed it. And almost all of the messages included the magic phrase: "next year."
It is, I think, unavoidable that -- from time to time during an extended series of treatments like mine -- you will feel utterly alone and that no one could possibly understand what you were going through. And it was during these times that the evidence of the cards came roaring into my life and said: "You are not alone! Not now. Not ever."
Friday, December 18, 2009
Another Step
Deb and I visited with my radiation doc this morning for a regularly scheduled check-up. He seemed genuinely pleased to see us, I think because he likes us and because my progress has been so positive since I had my last radiation session back in early August.
(You may recall that radiation was a vital part of my overall treatment regimen: We weren't sure that the major surgery had removed the entire primary tumor, and that my recovery from cancer needed the radiation to eliminate any part of the tumor that might still be in my head/neck area. So the rad doc worked up a specific area-vs-radiation-intensity program for his machine to follow -- to treat a cancer type with which he was less-than-familiar. So my recovery says that his program worked. Hurray for him! Hurray for me! Hurray for all of us!)
He told me I looked really well, and he was pleased that I continued to gain weight.
We talked about the numbness and tingling that I'm feeling in my right foot and both my hands (which is called a "small-fiber neuropathy," I think...), and he said we should keep an eye on it. He said it probably wouldn't get any worse and might well go away. And both of us agreed that, if this were my biggest problem, I was one fortunate dude. (Although he didn't use the word "dude." I doubt he's ever used the word "dude." And, although I''ve never met them, I doubt that his kids will ever use the word "dude." At least not in his hearing...)
He asked me whether my ability to taste foods was returning, and I told him definitely yes, but that I still had to avoid spicy foods.
He told me: "Then don't eat them."
I said: "But this means no Szechuan food!"
He brightened visibly and said: "Oh, you like Chinese food?!?" and I said yes. (He's Chinese -- very Chinese -- and I felt like I had just pitched him a belt-high fastball.) He's a busy man, so we avoided talking Szechuan food. But I would like to have got some recommendations for future use...
He probed my head/neck area very completely and told me he couldn't find anything to indicate a return of the cancer. I told him that I had been waiting for him to say that, and he smiled.
Then, he anesthetized my nose and throat and put a long lighted probe (laryngoscope?) into my nose and down the back of my throat. As he was doing this, he told me that my larynx looked perfectly normal and that my pharynx also looked perfectly normal. As he withdrew the instrument, he told Deb and me that "It looks like you haven't had any radiation treatment at all."
Oh, baby!
After so many sessions with this guy which were sometimes rather grim and determined "We just gotta keep grinding this out" sessions, it was wonderful to visit him and his marvelous staff and have nothing but good news and warm feelings all the way around.
Just in time for the holidays.
(You may recall that radiation was a vital part of my overall treatment regimen: We weren't sure that the major surgery had removed the entire primary tumor, and that my recovery from cancer needed the radiation to eliminate any part of the tumor that might still be in my head/neck area. So the rad doc worked up a specific area-vs-radiation-intensity program for his machine to follow -- to treat a cancer type with which he was less-than-familiar. So my recovery says that his program worked. Hurray for him! Hurray for me! Hurray for all of us!)
He told me I looked really well, and he was pleased that I continued to gain weight.
We talked about the numbness and tingling that I'm feeling in my right foot and both my hands (which is called a "small-fiber neuropathy," I think...), and he said we should keep an eye on it. He said it probably wouldn't get any worse and might well go away. And both of us agreed that, if this were my biggest problem, I was one fortunate dude. (Although he didn't use the word "dude." I doubt he's ever used the word "dude." And, although I''ve never met them, I doubt that his kids will ever use the word "dude." At least not in his hearing...)
He asked me whether my ability to taste foods was returning, and I told him definitely yes, but that I still had to avoid spicy foods.
He told me: "Then don't eat them."
I said: "But this means no Szechuan food!"
He brightened visibly and said: "Oh, you like Chinese food?!?" and I said yes. (He's Chinese -- very Chinese -- and I felt like I had just pitched him a belt-high fastball.) He's a busy man, so we avoided talking Szechuan food. But I would like to have got some recommendations for future use...
He probed my head/neck area very completely and told me he couldn't find anything to indicate a return of the cancer. I told him that I had been waiting for him to say that, and he smiled.
Then, he anesthetized my nose and throat and put a long lighted probe (laryngoscope?) into my nose and down the back of my throat. As he was doing this, he told me that my larynx looked perfectly normal and that my pharynx also looked perfectly normal. As he withdrew the instrument, he told Deb and me that "It looks like you haven't had any radiation treatment at all."
Oh, baby!
After so many sessions with this guy which were sometimes rather grim and determined "We just gotta keep grinding this out" sessions, it was wonderful to visit him and his marvelous staff and have nothing but good news and warm feelings all the way around.
Just in time for the holidays.
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