So long, farewell!

I have believed, and have been proven correct in my belief time and time again,  that most men end up eliminating themselves from consideration or inclusion in my life all by their lonesomes. Some do it in a more spectacularly disastrous manner than others. The last one takes the cake. #hiddenracist, #stupidracistcommentcostmemygirlfriend, and #secretlyrelievedhesgone. Still processing what I'm gonna say to him the next time I have the chance.

I have NO room in my life or soul for hidden or out in the open bigots.

Goodbye.

Don't
Call.

Midnight Playground: Where the Soul Plays is at the publishers!!!

Last week I sent my publishing team the manuscript.  It is now in the content review and editorial assessment stage.  Holy Cow!!!

As soon as I hit the "send" button, I felt like throwing up.  My stomach was tied in a million knots and my arm pits started sweating.  This is my physical reaction when I'm excited and scared and nervous all at the same time.  I was thankful I had already booked a 4:30 yoga class as I needed it desperately to calm my insides and quiet my mind.  I was so happy to be doing side planks even though the are not my most favorite pose.  However, my mind had to stay focused on the plank at hand which was a relief from the constant chatter of my meandering mind.

As I left the studio after class, I felt much calmer and more in control.  I felt again aligned with the universe and what is supposed to happen in my life.  It was a huge step sending off the manuscript.  I feel good.  I know I have a LOT of work ahead of me to promote Midnight Playground: Where the Soul Plays and to get people interested in reading it.  I also feel deep down in my gut that it is going to be a LOT of fun!

In the week since I have tackled some home improvement projects and made progress on my to-do list.  You know, things that piled up (including my laundry) while I was focused on the book.  It feels good to reclaim all of my spaces (emotional, physical, internal and external).  And I'm ready to start finishing my other two books (Purg-a-Tory and 4199)... Life is good. :-)

Glass Houses

there is a girl
she called me a whore
and
old;
I smiled
and
asked
when did you find time
to get off your back?

Post chemo PET Scan results

I had a follow up PET scan on Wednesday, April 23 (7 weeks post chemo) and the preliminary results show NO EVIDENCE of recurrence or metastatic disease!  Yeah!!! Happy Dance!!!!

I know I am breathing easier, dear readers, as you are too.  I meet with my oncologist next week for my first follow up visit.  I envision our conversation will be just as interesting as it was during our bi-weekly visits the last seven months:

Doc: "how are you feeling"

Me: rambling on and on about this side effect and that side effect and giving unsolicited advice on how to better interact with his patients and asking to be prescribed something to relieve the pain in my hands/feet...

Doc: "okay see you in 3 months, bye."

But all that won't bother me because for now (and hopefully forever) I do not have any evidence of cancer.  I do have lingering and painful side effects. It will be so nice when my nerves have healed and my skin is no longer sensitive to everything.  Certain fabrics feel like sandpaper against my skin!  (perfect excuse to purchase a set of 1500 thread count sheets from Amazon... they are A-MAZ-ING!).

I'm also dealing with arthritis in my hands and elbows but my taste buds have rejoined the living world.  Thankfully my hands tire out quickly so holding a fork for a long time is not possible therefore I am not able to overeat and regain all the weight I lost.
Anyway, I am happy.  The sun is shining. The weather is warmer.  And I am healthy. Tons to be thankful for!!!  ((Hugs))

The wonderful world of a cancer patient's medical bills

Dear readers:
Below is a copy of the letter I sent to SLUCare... we'll see if I get any response.
******

2/12/14

An Open Letter to SLUCare CEO, Gary Van House:

Dear Mr. House:

You don’t know me but I am currently a cancer patient receiving chemotherapy treatment for stage 3A colon cancer at St. Louis University Cancer Center.   Why does this matter to you , you ask,  and why am I writing you?

I am writing because your company, outside of its doctors and nurses, seems more interested in me as a profit center than as a human being working to survive my cancer diagnosis and treatment.  No one wakes up deciding to get cancer so they can ‘enjoy’ undergoing chemotherapy, radiation, and/or surgery.  No one decides to get cancer because they want to have thousands of dollars of additional medical bills to pay.  No one chooses to experience any of these things.  But for those of us ‘lucky people’ who get the cancer diagnosis and are told we need surgery and after that chemotherapy for six months and that none of it is a guarantee that we will be cured, we get put on the cancer/chemotherapy conveyor belt and our lives are never the same.

There are physical, emotional and financial stresses of going through treatment and living with cancer. 

Do you know what it’s like to have your hands and feet hurt constantly with prickly, stabbing pain?  That it’s something you just have to endure because it’s one of the side effects of the most expensive chemo drug ($10K a treatment) being pumped into your body (which only promises a 5% increase in the likelihood of a cure)?  Do you know what it’s like to not be able to swallow without feeling like someone has scraped your mouth with broken pieces of glass? Do you know what it’s like to have handfuls of your hair fall out daily? Do you know what it’s like to worry that every new ache or pain could be a sign that the cancer is back or growing or not reacting to treatment?  Do you know what it’s like to worry how you are going to pay for all the bills in your quest to stay alive? Do you know what it’s like to end up in the ER five times in six months because your immune system is compromised? Do you know what it’s like to only be able to muster up the energy to go from bed to couch to back to bed for days on end?  Do you know what it’s like to tell your children you have cancer?  Do you know what it’s like to keep working through all this because you have to keep your income and insurance?  Do you know what it’s like to do all this as a single parent on a single income?

I didn’t think so.

Because if you had, you certainly wouldn’t have your billing department call me on a Saturday morning to complain that I have let my bill get out of hand and that I wasn’t paying enough money every month.  You wouldn’t have your billing department ignore the fact that I was paying twice as much as the agreed budgeted amount every month and that I had never missed a payment.  Even after I told your billing representative that I didn’t set the prices of the chemotherapy drugs, that I was simply following my oncologist’s directives for beating this wretched disease and that I didn’t have any control over what was being billed, she replied that my bill was simply too much anymore.  I asked the representative if she wanted me to survive my cancer treatment, she said that, of course, she did. 

Do you want me to beat this cancer?  It seems not.

Yesterday, two weeks after my latest SLUCare bill (and one week after my last payment) which includes the statement about the agreed budgeted amount, I received a collection notice from Consumer Collection Management in Maryland Heights telling me that my account has been listed with their office for collection.  Yes, that is correct, your company listed me as a bad debt.

Stress.  Stress negates any positive benefit that one can get from chemotherapy.  Your company’s aggressive tactics have only added more stress to an already over-the-top-maxed-out stressful situation.  Your practices infer to me that you don’t have a lot of confidence that those receiving cancer treatment from your company will survive long enough to pay you, so you better get those dollars now, today, pronto.  Your company’s policies treat me as if I have been neglectful towards my medical bill with you, when in fact, I haven’t.

I have paid the agreed budgeted amount every two weeks.  Yes the bill increased, I couldn’t control that.  Insurance calendar years and resetting high deductibles and out of pocket amounts are not things I can control.  But your company’s unwarranted punitive actions are heartless, uncaring and tell me that greed is SLUCare’s motivation not patient survival and health. 

As your practices and policies currently stand, I cannot and will not in good conscience recommend to anyone facing a cancer diagnosis to come to SLU Cancer Center.  And it’s not because the care has been inadequate but because compassion, understanding, flexibility and a sense of humanity is not present beyond the patient care team.  It appears, if one receives treatment from your organization, the only guarantee is they will be harassed by your billing department.

As the Chief Executive Officer, don’t you think you can do better, be better? Don't you want to?

I have included my contact information should you have a desire to talk further with me.

And I hope, sir, you never have to face cancer.

Sincerely,

The Philosopher

Whole Foods chocolate chip cookies are NOT dog food!

I repeat:  Whole Foods chocolate chip cookies are NOT dog food!!!

Note to self: If I buy any more cookies from Whole Foods, I need to eat them immediately!  No saving them for another time nor planning on sharing them with the Rockstar  and the Sage.  Because those sneaky, yappy, not-very-adorable-today canines of mine have once again managed to pull the cookies from the package out of my work satchel and EATEN THEM!!!  They are so sneaky; I never even noticed until I saw the empty cookie bag still in my satchel today!

Ugh!!

Holy Fuck Monsters Batman!

Do you know what it's like to be thrust into a hormonal imbalance?  Waiting every day for it to get better?  Not really knowing if this emotion or that emotion is a side effect of the imbalance or just how it's going to be for the rest of your life?

Well it sucks.  Big. Time.

As regular readers know, one of the unexpected outcomes of my colon cancer surgery was the removal of an ovary that was encased in an endometrial cyst.  It was simply too dangerous to leave in although it was not cancerous.  That action has impacted my life more than anyone could have told me.  The doctors all said in the hospital that the remaining ovary would pick up the slack.  Did they tell me when? 

A long, long LONG wait today!

I had not planned on spending four hours in small rooms waiting to see doctors today.  No I had planned on arriving, giving blood, smiling and saying "how do you do?" "oh what lovely weather we are having, yes" and "great to meet you too, see you next week on the table"

Instead it was a lot of "hey how much longer do I have to wait to see Dr. so and so?" "Could you let him know I've not had anything to eat and I've been here for one, two, three hours now" 

Let's just say I could have written, directed and starred in my own Snickers Diva commercial without the Snickers.  The waiting/frustration was like being at the DMV amplified 50 times.

To go box

Buffalo pork wings & half price sangria make the Philosopher happy on vacation.

I do watercolors

Ever drink Bailey's from a shoe?

Some very dear friends shared this with me the other night and we laughed and laughed... I think the most fun was listening to them do their best Old Gregg impressions... that and a lot of plum wine!

Here is a link to another youtube sensation that I only recently learned about it... courtesy of one night when the Rockstar was chasing down a foul ball at his baseball game... he went running by and said "ain't nobody got time for that" and everyone laughed.  I said "what is he talking about?" and the other parents got their phones out and promptly showed me the following link:
Ain't nobody got time for that

Both of these videos make me smile and laugh out loud!  At least now I know what people are referring to when they say, "ain't nobody got time for that" and "do you love me?"

Enjoy.

If only my premonitions were useful...

Today I woke up to a Facebook posting by The Rockstar that, lately, he has been faced with making all sorts of decisions, that it has been tough and that he might be moving.

I sat straight up and stared at my little iPhone screen, shocked.  WTF?! 

I called his father.  No answer.

I called him.  No answer.

I ran into Ladybug's room and woke her up demanding if she knew about Rockstar's plan to move.  She groggily denied any knowledge.  I fluttered from room to room.  I texted his father.

I called Rockstar again.  He called back.

I told him what I saw on Facebook.  I asked him WTF is he thinking? He said he wants to grow up with his dad.  I reminded him that his father due to his job is only there for two weeks every thirty days.  Rockstar replied that he knew that but if he were living out there, he wouldn't have to wait a week to see his dad.  I was hurt.  I still am. Hours after this conversation, the bleeding hasn't stopped.

I told him that I shouldn't have found out via Facebook and that this was a conversation between his father and me and to tell his dad to call me when he woke up.

Ten years!  Ten years!  I said to myself in the mirror.  I have taken care of him when his father left.  I have made sure he got to school, played sports, got to the doctor/dentist/orthodontist/counselor.  I have gone to every school function I could attend, cheered loudly for him from the sidelines of every game he played in, celebrated his wins and consoled his losses.  I have laughed and cried with him.  I protected his father's reputation and made sure that he developed a relationship with him. I have put my life on hold to make sure I do what's best for him and my other two children.  His text response was:  "... more opportunities for me to grow up and become a man out here..." that it wasn't about me, that he loved me and always would.  blah blah blah

His father called.  He does not agree with Rockstar.  He thinks Rockstar should continue to live with me, not change his permanent address and when he is in town Rockstar can come stay with him.  I was relieved to know I was not being ambushed. 

My friends say for me not to take any of it personally, that it is just a function of his age (14) and that Rockstar will realize how much he does like it at home.

I replied that I try not to take it personally but after the years of many difficult conversations I have had with my children when they were extolling the virtues of being with their dad and his wife and her extended family because "that's what a family really is and we don't have that with you," it is very hard.  Christmas 2011 my children chose to leave me alone so they could spend it with their step-mom and her family even though their father was NOT going to be there due to work. That was the loneliest Christmas I have ever experienced.  I still hurt from that.  And today's Facebook posting, subsequent conversations and text message with Rockstar resurrected that hurt and tore off any bandages I had. Yes, the bleeding continues.

I have done the best I could for ten years.  I tried to have them understand that our little four-person unit was a family and that we needed to love and protect each other. 

I can't write any more on this right now.  In a day or so, when I have regained perspective, I'll continue. But for now, all I can say is I wish my gut feelings (like those referenced in the posting A new normal) could be put to use in picking out winning lottery numbers instead of predicting heartbreak. 

Tourniquet anyone?  Anyone?

The Accidental Prisoner of War

Two years.  730 days. At a minimum.

Am I supposed to start marking X's on the wall for every day that goes by?  What side of fucking Christmas are we on? And which Christmas? Now what?

I am so angry with you. 

Happy now?

Just following procedure, ma'am. 

Did you think about the fallout these bombs would create when you dropped them this time?  Or did you think, "eh it's only Barbie, easy come, easy go."?

Was this all part of your game plan? Your strategy?  Stake your flag in my heart, nurture the dependence, the reliance and the 'joy' I felt every day with you.  And then walk away. Telling me it's your plan to come back for me.  Put me through this god-awful pain, to see if I have what it takes to be with you?  To test my "combat-readiness"?

Oh but you're setting me free, that's right.  Putting me back in the wild, returning me to my tribe.

I was free before.  I was freely loving you.  Freely choosing to be with you.  Freely waiting with you for our time.  Freely figuring out which journeys our paths would take till they converged.  But now, because you are judge and jury in this relationship, I have been sentenced to this torture.  Waterboarding begins at 2.

Gave me steak.  Left me with bread and water.

And a one and a two and a three, turn!

Listening to Dreamgirls loudly throughout my house – I Am Changing – seems appropriate for me right now – yes I’m changing…taking back my life, my soul, my heart – this song is from my past, my youth so the images that flood my mind and heart are of dancing, pulsing to the music and working hard to get the body to do the choreography, some of it easier to accomplish than others – much like life – some stuff you have to work extra hard at, pushing and pulling, molding, shaping, stuffing, fighting to put it the way it should be and then whatever was resisting finally gives and it sorts itself out. Other times life comes together so easily it’s like you’ve never had to spend hours working on a particularly hard dance step. But in each instance, the dance at the end is still beautiful.

Walking the Dogs

Why have I spent so many years going around and around this park? I asked myself. Always on the same path. Oh I might change it up and start out going left instead of right but I never really veered from this path. And each time I went for a walk the experience was less and less of a joy and more of a burden. I followed all the others who moved in a circle around the park. All of us moving clockwise or counter-clockwise not thinking about why we are there; we are just doing it. Living in our gray world, walking on the black, marked path. And I hated to take the dogs on a walk with me too. They barked at everyone. They ran back and forth across the path. My shoulders and hands hurt from trying to reel them in and make them walk quietly and peacefully around the park. Not to disrupt the flow of the walkers and runners. My ears rang from the high-pitched bark and my soul hurt from the stares of others who judged me with their questioning looks of “why can’t you keep your dogs quiet?” I hated every moment of those walks. So I began to walk less and less. I left the dogs at home. We just couldn’t conform to the status quo. We couldn’t be ‘good circle walkers’. I couldn’t take the stares anymore. Then the vet said – the dogs NEED exercise. So guilt overtook the shame I felt walking us in the predetermined circle. I laced up my shoes, grabbed the leads, the dogs and took a deep breath.

When the three of us got to the park, I froze. I wouldn't budge. The dogs tugged and tugged on the leads to get moving. But, I didn’t want to walk the circle. I didn’t want to just move around like everyone else anymore. So instead I stepped off the path and extended the lead for the dogs and we trampled through the green space. We investigated the lakes, the underbrush and chased squirrels. We didn’t step on the path once. We went up hills and down trails. The dogs raced back and forth and didn’t bark. They just bounded happily. And then, it hit me. I have spent so many years just going around like everyone else and wondering why I haven’t gotten very far and why it hadn’t been very enjoyable. But I made that one small change to walking the dogs and suddenly the experience was much more enjoyable for all of us (even for those we would not see on the path).

It is time to make each experience mine no matter the form it takes. And when I walk down MY path and follow MY heart, the experience is so much more enjoyable. I'll do it again and again because it is so much fun! Time to take the dogs for a walk!

How I found tango...

I have been on a quest to replicate a dance that I did not know the name of or how to do it from 20 years ago. When I was a cocktail waitress in college, I worked at a lounge that catered to the older, business community in the town. They had live music (a man on keyboards and a man on bass guitar) and dancing every Thursday through Saturday. I would love it when I danced with one of the bar’s customers. His name was Robert. I loved dancing with him because he would hold me tight and move me all around the dance floor. He would navigate around the floor so that we had criss-crossed and touched every corner several times during the song. It was heaven for me – moving and walking to the music. I tried, unsuccessfully, to teach my then boyfriend, (who later became my husband, who later became my ex-husband), how to dance the way Robert did. My ex-husband could never do it and he gave up trying.

Fast-forward 20 years (well that’s how it feels anyway). I began swing dancing and really enjoyed it. I learned a lot from swing dancing on how to be a good follow and the importance of the connection between the dance partners. However, I still had not been able to replicate the dance that I did with Robert.

Then, about eight months ago, I went to my first tango lesson and milonga at a quaint, local wine bar. I learned to walk, pause, rock step, and ocho along with the others taking the class. I was enjoying myself but still no “Robert-dance”.

That is until I danced later that night with an experienced tango dancer. He wrapped his arm around my waist, held my other hand in his and pulled me close. He then moved me gracefully, rhythmically around the dance floor and for a brief moment I thought I was dancing with Robert again. I knew then that my search was over. I had found the dance and I wasn’t going to let it get away from me this time.

The only thing that matters is the heart

I hear the music coming from the ballroom as I walk down the elegant hallways of the Ritz. My step quickens as I draw ever closer to my Sunday night heaven. The weariness of daily life, the frustrations and anxieties disappear once I step into the ballroom. I am surrounded by warmth and love. I see the smiling, happy people who come to this retreat every Sunday as well. And for four hours, we hold each other in our arms, moving rhythmically across the dance floor, turning, walking, wrapping our legs around each other, and sliding our feet from one side to the next. Daintily tapping our feet, holding each other close so that we can hear each other breathe while simultaneously releasing our embrace to where we can see each other’s smiling face. Every dance, every embrace brings us all together in our own space. Who you are, what your job is, where you live, where you went to school, what you drive is immaterial on the dance floor. The only thing that matters is the heart and connecting with your dance partner at the most basic human level, with love.

Riding along the waves of the beautiful music floating through the air of the Ritz is kindness and beauty. The ballroom’s elegance is matched with the elegance of the human spirit gathered to dance the Tango. Every couple on the dance floor is creating and re-creating their story with every side step and circle of their legs. He stands tall protecting the beautiful woman in his arms guiding her safely around the dance floor. She stands close, draping her arm across his neck and shoulder and placing her hand tenderly into his. She presses her face next to his and relaxes in his arms. He holds her close. For the next several minutes they listen to each other not through speech but through the embrace. He indicates where he’d like to go through his chest and she accepts that lead, moving how he intended. The music flows into their souls and they dance the dance that resides in their hearts. Every dance is unique never to be danced in the same way again no matter how many times they may dance together. The conversation is never stale.

As I finish my last dance and remain in his embrace long after the last note played, soaking up as much love to last me till the next Sunday, my heart and soul are filled with the beauty of life. I know how lucky I am to receive this love from others and how lucky I am to give it back. This love is in its purest form, there are no expectations, no baggage, no heart-ache… just pure love to give and to receive. I change back into my street shoes and put my coat on. And give one last hug and kiss to my dance partners as we wish each other a good week and commit to seeing each other again the next Sunday. I walk back down the hallway away from the ballroom and the anxieties, frustrations and weariness of daily life stay far away from me because my tango memories insulate me. And I begin the countdown till the next Sunday night tango.