Happy Birthday to the African Raven and me.

Well, we checked out of the Ryokam paying full price. I just couldn't do it. You know, rip them a new one (if you know what I mean)?  Plus I thought it best to spare Andy the embarrassment. But i did snap some photos of the offending carpet and various other stains. (Who knows what I'll do with those?)  Ironically, upon check out, she gave us a gift of candy and said "it is good luck in bringing you money". We had to laugh, because it definitely worked for her!

We then took the bullet train again. Now from Kyoto to Hiroshima.  When we arrived in Hiroshima, we were met by gentlemen in suits from the shipyard and took a two hour drive to the coast, to Innoshima Island. The minute we arrived we dropped our bags off and put on hards hats and white gloves to go see the shipyard and ship number 766. We learned she doesn't get her name until she is properly christened. 

There was such affection for this giant, brand new, ready to launch, carrier of grain and wood and ore. Beautifully designed, the building of her employes 1000 people and supports the town and island. 
Today was a bright morning and as we drove back to the shipyard for her launching, number 766 was decked out in red and white banners and streamers.  Families from the island all came to watch. Shipyard workers in blue coveralls held so many balloons they looked like rainbows wearing hard hats.  An antique bell was rung ten times and then yard workers ran under the boat to remove the least neccessary supports under it.  Then, as it's god-mother, I blessed the ship, it's crew and it's owners. I then cut a red and white cord with a beautiful hatchet. This set off a mechanical momentum that caused a bottle to smash on the ship's hull and then the entire 37,000 ton ship began to release backwards into the harbor. It was huge and practically silent. The beautiful African Raven had been launched! She seems like a tough bird. I'm proud to be her god-mother. It was phenomenal. Really. 

This was such an unusual thing to do and a very cool way to spend my birthday. And although my allegiances are quite strong for September 21th, my re-birthday, I'm back to appreciating my original birthday and hope to spend both days in much celebration for many years to come. It might be hard to top today. But we can always try...

Taking Care of Myself

written saturday 29 March

When I went to New York two weeks ago to have my biopsy done I had the great fortune of getting together with my New York clique of girls who propped me up and peeled me grapes and wiped my tears and probably cleaned my puke on a day to day tag team basis with intermittent relief from other angels who flew in from all over to give them a break.  (I couldn't have done it without any of you..) 

Getting together with my NY crowd, while we talk trash and I watch them drink too much wine is one of the funnest and funniest things to do. They are a talented, smart, rowdy, witty and loving crowd. Thanks ladies...

After that 24 hour whirlwind (way too short) I took Amtrak up to Boston to see my original clique. My girls from junior high. We met in Boston to be nearest to Allison after her back surgery. Kaethe came from Denver and Susanne from Tucson. We talked and laughed and cried and analyzed and ate and shopped and walked and it went way too fast. 
I know that nourishing all these friendships is an integral part of taking care of myself.  And I know that taking care of myself is of the upmost importance. 

I'm writing tonight from a very dirty ryokan (a "traditional" Japanese hotel) in Kyoto, Japan. We spent a lovely day scratching the surface of an ancient culture. We walked through Buddhist temples that were orange and gold and filled with old smooth wood and incense. In one, I lit a candle for good luck for my babies.

The cherry and plum blossoms are just yawning open here and the sun was especially bright it seemed. There were throngs of Japanese tourists, Chinese tourists, and us. Everyone seemed so happy to be roaming around these ancient hills. I love walking around in a happy crowd. Everyone was dressed so cutely. Chic and neat. I wasn't sure where to be looking or what to be taking pictures of. I started off with the usual pictures of sights and then us in front of sights. Then, as usual, I always mix in photographing the hearts I find everywhere. But before long, I just had to start taking pictures of shoes. All the awesome shoes. Six inch high red platforms. Super glittery loafers with giant glittery bows. Colorful Dragon Beard trainers. Tiny toddlers wearing itsy bitsy high-tops.  I could hardly focus on anything until we stopped to have a soy milk green tea soft serve ice cream. (Possibly now my new favorite food on the plant, trumping dark chocolate covered almonds and steamed kale with soy sauce and tahini). 

After such a nice day, I'm still very jet lagged. Its late late and the rain is pounding down. I'm laying on my futon and straw mat, wide awake. It stresses me out because I know I should be asleep and that I need my sleep. It was the same this morning in Tokyo.  Andy and I were running to the train station in order to catch the train in time for the tour we booked in Kyoto. I was stressing out. I was sure we were going to miss our train and that all would be lost. I had bought seats yesterday specifically on the right side of the train so that we could see Mt. Fuji as we passed by. And now, I was worried we were going to miss Mt. Fuji too! At one point Andy said to me, "I didn't just sweat my ass off for the last three years to watch you stress out like this. It's not worth it!" And he was totally right. 

So tonight, I started writing this because as I lay on this hard futon on the floor in this odorous Ryokam, I'm stressing out.  Maybe I'm writing about it to help calm myself down. If I told you how much we were paying for this, it would make more sense. But I can't even bring myself to write the number down and then see it in print!  It's a lot more than the $30 that ,maybe, it's worth. 

Unfortunately, I am the one who booked this place. Kyoto was a side trip that I really wanted to take and it got planned in an unplanned hurry.  It's high season here because of the cherry blossoms, so I said yes to staying here without doing the proper research. It was suggested by the concierge at our hotel in Tokyo and so I grabbed it (against Andy's advice I must add). So later, after we did do some research, Andy pulled up trip advisor and I thought "uh oh, it's one of those love/hate hotels". People were either elated or repulsed! I started getting nervous...

Well, a really stinky smell hit us when we first stepped in to the ryokan. Now I realize that the smell is unavoidable and lingers everywhere. Then, dinner was absolutely repulsive. An inedible meal we had to sneak out on in order to find a second dinner in town. Plus, there's filthy carpets they make you take your shoes off to walk on. I am for sure, peeved and stressed out. and I know it's not good for me. 

I always liked the wit of this quote: "Resentment is when I drink poison and wait for you to die". Susanne reminded me of it when we were in Boston and discussing such things. And I'm remembering it now as I'm laying here, wound up and jet lagged, hoping someone asks me how my stay was tomorrow morning at check out so I can them tell them the truth and  only pay them the $30 they don't deserve. 

It's difficult because they're not nasty in any way. I just don't think that half used bottles of soap in the shower that is actually a hose hooked up to the sink tap, and a totally funky terry cloth seat cover on the toilet seat (not the lid) is cool anywhere where people are paying for the night. Somehow I doubt this would be what you might find in a traditional royokan. Andy and I quickly renamed this place "Royocan't".

So, in honor of my sustained health, I will try to compartmentalize this experience while I try to get a few hours sleep. I will leave this blog post in a cliff hanger as no one knows how it will end up at check out tomorrow. They're bringing breakfast to the room at 8:30 so I have a mind to sneak out to Starbucks before they arrive. I'm going to put my poison down, and set the alarm clock for 7:45...

Pristine

Yahoo! "Pristine" is how Dr. Giralt described my bloodwork and the results of my bone marrow biopsy two weeks ago.  I'm stunned, even though I felt things were good.  It's just that when that big fat corkscrew, needle, tapper, poker, digger thing starts in my hip in search of bone and marrow there's always a few nerves--a shadow of a doubt.  It brings back bad memories. But this is starting to feel real to me. I think my marrow, my body, have completely accepted this re-start. And the worries about breast cancer were nothing as well. It's all good today.

I'm coming up on my original birthday. March 31. Although I feel so much more attuned with my new, September 21st birthday, I'm going to celebrate on Monday by christening a ship in Japan! How crazy is that? How fun. How lucky.  I'm in a hotel in Tokyo right now. Late at night. Just having Facetimed with Isaac. Andy fast asleep.  It's quiet. And I'm alive.  So thankful. Pinch me!

Sitting on a Plane

I think I just watched the saddest movie I’ve ever seen while heading to NY for my  one and a half year check-up and biopsy. First, I watched Le Week-End, and I loved it. Any movie with Jeff Goldblum and Paris, to me, is simply irresistible.  Plus, being that it was shot in Paris, (spoiler alert) of course, it’s about Love.  Old love. It’s the type of love that is so deep that there’s just no chance to wriggle out of it anymore, even if you still might wish you could. There were a few good laughs to be had as well.  Highly recommended, by the way.

I promised myself when the movie was done, I’d do some work on the computer.  But then I was helpless in front of that screen with that “in-flight” display of options.  I couldn’t resist.  It’s rare that I’m on a plane by myself, so of course I want to watch the movies that most likely no one will watch with me at home. If there isn’t a super-hero in it, or a Russian spy, I’m usually out-voted. So in my lack of discipline, I perused the British Airways offerings and chose a Chinese film called The Stolen Years. The description said it was about a young woman who wakes up from an accident with amnesia and cannot remember or figure out why she’s divorced.  Sounds pretty interesting, I thought.  She can only remember the deep love she had for her husband five years earlier, before they separated. She finds him again and begs him to explain and help her remember her life. Well, guess who cried her eyes out for two hours, in the privacy of a packed 747?  Me.  First, I used up all the nice napkins and then all my tissues. I tried as best I could to dampen my whimperings so as not to freak out the guy sitting next to me. 

This happened to me once before, over 20 years ago, when Andy and I were flying to London on Virgin. It was the first time I was on a flight with an unending stream of movies to personally choose from.  We stayed up all night.  I was going to meet Andy’s parents for the first time.  I watched three movies that flight, ending on Into the West, with Ellen Barkin.  Such a sad film.  Of course, the mother dies and leaves behind a loving husband and two boys.  I was so spent when I finally met my future in laws. Who knows that they thought? 

Now, of course, all these movies I mention are about love.  Love Love Love. It’s hands down my favorite thing.  I thrive on it. I exist on it.  I could never do without it.  I know I’m obsessed with it and I’m lucky because I have the luxury to be.  I’m not the bread-winner at home. I don’t have an ass-kicking or kick-ass job. On any given day I can go to the park with my kids and my dog.  I can lay in the swing in our front garden and look up at the early blooming magnolia it’s hanging from. I can just dissolve into the love of it all. 

The other day I took an exercise class and got so much of my energy from thinking about my stem-cell donor Monique and the loving life-saving bag of grace she gave me.  I feel so thankful to her. She gave me not only my life back, but, a year and a half later, I can slowly feel my body coming back. She gave me my body back.  And I just love it. I love my body.  I love breathing, bounding up the stairs, I love hugging and cuddling and just generally having the energy to do stuff!

I feel so much forgiveness toward my body now and I totally see how forgiveness can be so freeing.  When you hold a grudge, no one cares but you.  You’re the only one feeling those feelings.  Why, when something bad happens, do we perpetuate it within ourselves? Why is it so hard to forgive?  It must be something in evolution. Like, “damn, I’m not going near that saber tooth tiger again, He was a real ass to me…”.

The only thing I have a really hard time forgiving is cancer.  I wish I could, because it makes me so angry. And who needs that?  In some ways, maybe I can forgive cancer, for me, only because of what I’ve learned from it.  It’s helped me grow, and I hope, be a better person, mother, wife and friend.  I take very little for granted now. (At least the things I am aware of).  But, I’m so mad at cancer for all the people who have to deal with it and then do not have the time to learn from it, or recover from it. 

I’ve been asked more than once what I think causes cancer. I used to have theories. I no longer have theories.  I really think it’s just crap luck.  A lot of the time I think it’s hard for people to hear that, because what can you then do to avoid it?  Not much.  I’m a huge advocate of taking good care of oneself.  But it’s not really to prevent cancer. It’s more so that you can enjoy your life.  So you can enjoy your kids, and  have a twinkle in your eye and a spring in your step. It’s so that your nagging backache doesn’t distract you from the little things.  I would hate to miss the almost thankful wink my seven year old gave me when I caught him in a lie, or the surprising fierceness my gentle, thirteen year old shows on a muddy, freezing, rainy, rugby field. 

I was reminded this week of the pain of cancer.  That feeling when I first find out.  I was at the endocrinologist because my cholesterol is out of control.  Most likely it’s because of an anti-rejection drug I take called Tacrilimus.  Most likely it will subside when I go off the drug (whenever that will be…).  In preparation for this appointment they did a Well Woman blood panel on me.  All my blood work looks lovely, beautiful, fantastic, (thanks again Monique).  So we got into discussing the little stuff: Vitamin D, Calcium, a slightly sluggish thyroid.  Then, at the very bottom on the last page there was an elevated reading for something called CA-15.3.  Of course I wanted to know what that was, so I asked.  All of a sudden the doctor turns a greenish-grey and takes his glasses off.  I thought, as all those numbers and explanations of things were swirling around in my head, that he was exasperated with me because I asked about something we’d already covered.  But then I looked at it again, and I was pretty sure we hadn’t discussed it yet.  I looked back up at him and I could see he was searching for words.  He said, “ I don’t want you to get worried or upset.  I have no idea why they even did this test, because it doesn’t tell us anything, but it’s a marker for cancer”.  And I had that feeling again.  It’s like my blood runs out and then I get this bad tingle and feel like I’m going pale and then my head falls forward and hits the desk I’m sitting at.  He gets out his phone and googles the marker and quotes how it’s, “Indefinitive.  A rarely used marker for breast cancer” and blah blah blah.  And he says, “Please don’t worry, please don’t let it ruin your day”, etc.  So I had two choices right there.  Freak out or not freak out?  Listen to the doctor or not listen to the doctor?  I decided to listen to the doctor.  Which worked, only on and off, through out the day and night.

I wasn’t going to tell anyone.  Not even Andy. But then I had to, because I couldn’t lie. And I couldn’t fake not being scared. I had to once more burden my husband with talking me down. And again, I felt angry at cancer and for all the people who have to get told shit news and then be talked down. And I felt bad for all the people who have to do the talking down and for that empty feeling they all must feel.  And then, once again, Andy sweetly said that, “You should forget about it if you can. It’s nothing.”   I know he loves me.  Old Love. A lot of love.  And that’s the reassuring thing people say when they love each other.   Whether they’re in Paris for the week-end, or not.