Heidi Beth

what I really want to say is nothing
just take a long walk alone,
my little break from awesome
each foot lifted with thought
i’d live my slow stepping with cream on top
maple yogurt with a bit of  meditative eating

save the moment, then sit like a stone soaking sun rays
being minutes of solitude
a leaves-bent-in-the-breeze quiet

i really want to let a cool chaos be ever okay
but in my bones it can shake like a tiny fury
i could recognize as a tantrum
if it were ignorable
if i knew where the override button was

then again, only the Prophets needed no break
from training the world, and maybe they did anyhow
i’m training an outspoken two with the unshaven
(until the discomfort of growing in hair trumps
don’t want to mess with that today) dear one

the lot of us, we’re all sane and sassy,
music (that memory-inducing charm) plays
we belly laugh every ten minutes
a few notable photos managed yet
colorado cute, log cabins, earth-tone purple houses
snow caps in may, and down the mountain
valleys layered in straight-up tall pines
topped in ordinarily amazing sky

I live a dream in motion
even when i do need an hour alone and silent

When I met with my oncologist in Zion on Friday, he decided to change my treatment plan by replacing one of my chemo medications with another that he says is more effective. He said that his reasons are the way I’m handling side effects of treatment and the signs of improvement in my recent scans. This also will change my schedule, I’ll be going for treatment every two weeks, currently that puts me there every other Friday. Also he will wait until I’ve been on this new program for probably three sessions before he orders new scans.

Overall he says that I’m doing very well with handling side effects, that he can see it better than I do because he has many patients with similar situations for comparison.

Meanwhile I’m mostly not wearing the surgical collar, and will be seeing the surgeon this coming week for a follow-up exam.

OK, enough about me already! I want to hear more about what’s happening with all of you. I can’t figure out how to respond to your Care Pages posts, so please write to me at my email address hnkatz2@sbcglobal.net

Love and prayers,
Helen

“Adult” feels closed in, as if spontaneity must be set aside
for proper planning, a perfect shade of blue that never falters.
I’d rather grow up on a song and call it love,
let its shape evolve with every understanding.

We’re passing a garage sale somewhere in the US,
bits of a family’s history laid out on green tarps
beneath late afternoon sun, the vibrating kind,
its light bouncing off passing car roofs,
greening trees, pleasing children unaware.

My husband is drawn to browse.
I look back down at the screen in my lap
grateful he keeps driving west,
think vaguely of the hours purging last summer,
our own lawn tarps covered in low-priced,
well-used gifts, thoughtful and thoughtless purchases
proved useful, empty floors freshly Swiffered,
bare walls, clean cabinets, our foot steps echoing
up and down double-checked walkways
before we locked the front door for the last time.

The open road offers its own challenges,
a vast space in which to listen to years gone by,
friendships we forget to connect to the future
and regret for such carelessness, a vague familiar
created by industry but nothing to memorize
as daily outside of our small traveling setup,
and a shimmering quiet asking us to fill it
with acted-on good intentions,
like singing with the family more,
writing now that time has opened,
and being awake for every sunrise,
knowing the long day stretches out,
waiting to see if we will keep our word.

Hi Friends,

This is Heidi, slowly taking dictation for my mom. (I’m slow, she’s not) She says, “I’m sorry I haven’t written anything for a while. I’ve been having pain issues these last couple weeks, but the good news is, I got the surgical collar off and am doing okay without it. I’m going back to CTCA tomorrow for more treatment, so it may be several more days before I’m up to writing much.

“Pain or no pain, I’m grateful for everyone’s prayers and support.”-end dictation.

She also asked me to write a bit of whatever I felt like sharing.

This morning, my mom drove for the first time since the neck surgeries. Turns out the pain in her arm (which has been gradually getting better), rather than any neck issues, was the greatest challenge. But she did run two errands, then came home and promptly took a three hour nap.

I have other thoughts and stories, but not for today.

Let’s do a Q & A post, focused on but not restricted to her health and related matters, like “How’s Mr. Bob?”. If you would like, ask a question(s) in the comments, and we will write a post of answers within the bounds of what we’re willing to share publicly.

I may get a talking to for this idea 😉 It’s okay though, she’ll enjoy the virtual “hanging out” aspect.

Later Gaters (written from Shreveport),

Helen and Heidi

The report from my oncologist on the two scans I took Thursday was wonderful to hear. He said that despite my losing a month of treatment due to the surgery, many of the cancer spots are smaller. Not all, some didn’t change and in at least one place it is slightly larger, but overall he saw this as a very positive report. He’ll be scanning me again after I complete two more rounds of chemo.

My surgeon was happy, also, to see no new cancer in the area where he had operated, and told me to wear the collar until May 3, then take it off “progressively,” since the neck muscles will be weak, and to make an appointment to see him sometime in May.

I wanted to tell you all the good news right away but after the chemo that same day I was pretty well wiped out, and have been mostly sleeping since then. Knowing the treatment is having some results, though, makes this much more bearable.

Thanks again and again and again for your love and prayers.

Helen

I keep company with what I know
I cannot predict or control.
Every second for sure, but I forget,
mercifully.

My reaction, my intention, my hopes, yes,
but nothing else.

I check as if reading a thermometer.
More energy today mom?
How’s your appetite?
Pain?

She finally asks me to stop.
It matters though,
this false sense of knowing a thing, as if…
I knew the future.

We are quieter together,
very much ourselves,
a walking patience.

Cancer grows or shrinks beyond
what we can measure day by day,
beyond what we understand,
so we wait.

I had no idea I could feel quiet
in the visible presence of uncertainty.