Sunday, April 3, 2011
The Cricket Kit
With the first hint of cooler weather as Autumn approaches, the crickets return, seeking a warmer environment: inside the house with us, not outside in their summer houses. They appear in our guest bath and the surrounding area having squeezed through the small slit between the guest quarters and the garage. Unwilling to squash them under foot, leaving a gooey mess to scrape up, we have developed a technique for capturing them, carrying them to the nearest door to the outdoors, and flinging them into the grassy lawn far enough out so that they would have a hard time finding their way back indoors. We call this The Cricket Kit. The Cricket Kit consists of two parts: a plastic cup, the short kind with a large opening in which punch is served at overpopulated outdoor summer weddings and bar mitzvahs by the pool; part two is a thin 6x9” flexible rectangle of light cardboard. The procedure upon spotting a stealthy cricket intent on securing a warm winter berth, is to grab the “Kit,” approach the cricket from behind and quickly pop the plastic cup over it. This part of the capture is the trickiest; the little devils have 360 degrees of vision and move like the proverbial drop of water on a hot skillet. Often, three or four attempts are required to secure captivity. The chase does wonders for sharpening one’s reflexes! The next step is to slide the rectangle of cardboard between the rim of the cup and the floor without creating an escape space or inflicting a crippling injury to the cricket’s legs. Carefully lift the assemblage so that light pressure between the cardboard and the upended cup secures the contrivance for the journey to the great outdoors. It is even possible, with a minimum of repetition, to master the journey single-handedly so that the free hand can open the door. You now have a humane way to rid your home of the occasional cricket while righteously donning an enveloping mantle of virtue toward other living creatures. Do, however, be sure that your safari is aimed at a cricket, an essentially harmless, if nervous, insect. Save the fly swatter technique for those critters of dubious origins or spider-like configurations. The cricket, incidentally, is NOT a euphemism for cockroach, a creature deserving, in my opinion, instant execution energized by a tsunami of revulsion. But that is my entomological bias; my empathy and respect for the integrity of other living creatures does not extend beyond the world crickets. Completed July 11, 2010
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Three Years Ago
Three years ago I assumed responsibility for the LindaLater blog to stay in touch with those who concerned themselves with our thoughts and reactions to this medical crisis. At that point my medical condition was quite critical, and regular bulletins posted to the blog were the speediest, most efficient way to communicate, especially during the year-long search for an accurate diagnosis and identifying an effective treatment plan.
Circumstances since then have changed considerably as treatment progressed. The CT scans taken every three months have shown a progressively slowing rate of growth of the liver tumors and, finally, a full halt sustained over the past six months. This can’t be considered a “cure” or even a remission. It is merely a different stage of the illness, one substantially less critical than that of three years ago.
I am still in the thick of the cancer forest, so to speak, but the trees seem to be thinning. As I gain strength and am able to do more, the drama of my situation diminishes. My complaints have become progressively more picky. I’m really scraping the bottom of the barrel looking for significant signs of illness. The positive signals of good health have begun to predominate, cause for celebration.
With suspense diminishing from post to post, the initial purpose of the LindaLater blog has been fulfilled. Now a new, more personal form of communication seems more appropriate. I invite those of you who are interested to contact me directly by email so that we can carry on a two-way “conversation.” I want to keep in touch and know how you and those dear to you are doing.
Each of you has contributed hugely to lightening this load for both Michael and me. The tsunami of thoughts, prayers and affirmations you sent our way has sustained us, delivered a miracle of ongoing life, and graced us with your loving companionship in our passage through this trial. You have our deepest enduring gratitude.
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 1, 2009
Circumstances since then have changed considerably as treatment progressed. The CT scans taken every three months have shown a progressively slowing rate of growth of the liver tumors and, finally, a full halt sustained over the past six months. This can’t be considered a “cure” or even a remission. It is merely a different stage of the illness, one substantially less critical than that of three years ago.
I am still in the thick of the cancer forest, so to speak, but the trees seem to be thinning. As I gain strength and am able to do more, the drama of my situation diminishes. My complaints have become progressively more picky. I’m really scraping the bottom of the barrel looking for significant signs of illness. The positive signals of good health have begun to predominate, cause for celebration.
With suspense diminishing from post to post, the initial purpose of the LindaLater blog has been fulfilled. Now a new, more personal form of communication seems more appropriate. I invite those of you who are interested to contact me directly by email so that we can carry on a two-way “conversation.” I want to keep in touch and know how you and those dear to you are doing.
Each of you has contributed hugely to lightening this load for both Michael and me. The tsunami of thoughts, prayers and affirmations you sent our way has sustained us, delivered a miracle of ongoing life, and graced us with your loving companionship in our passage through this trial. You have our deepest enduring gratitude.
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted December 1, 2009
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Turnabout
Michael:
After living for the past three years inside Lynn’s Cancer Universe, I had adjusted to the situation: Lynn has cancer. She is The Survivor. I don’t have cancer. I am The Caregiver. Suddenly that neat division of roles disintegrated: I have cancer. But I am still The Caregiver. Lynn still has cancer. But she is now The Caregiver also. All very unsettling, apart from the collapse of my conviction that it could never happen to me.
Diagnosis was Malignant Melanoma, right ear, not too advanced but very dangerous, confirmed by positive biopsy August 24th, mandating immediate ear surgery plus removal of lymph nodes (neck). Lynn assumed The Caregiver role instantly with her usual love, dedication and organization. She drove me to my appointments and surgeries, was at my side every moment.
Together we sweated out the absurd delays in finally scheduling the surgery. It was supposed to have been not just “ASAP”, but “Yesterday”. But it took nearly six weeks (of sleepless nights) before the two specialty surgeons (Oncology and Reconstruction) could manipulate their schedules to meet me in the O/R on Oct 2nd.
Result: all biopsies now negative; I’m left with a weird right ear, Back to my Caregiver role but now a legitimate member of our local Cancer Survivors Group.
Lynn:
A wrenching surprise! No less anxiety-producing, but coming from a very different viewpoint.
Instant guilt: why didn’t I notice the telltale mark sooner? How long had it been there? Guilt is all about self-involvement, not a sterling quality for a caregiver. I was jarred into looking beyond myself and finding ways to comfort Michael and bring a sense of normalcy to our lives.
This role reversal has sharpened our attention to the moment, what we can do for each other now. I perceive more balance. The timing is good, coming when I feel stronger, more capable and more confident about managing, with ongoing help from my spouse, two illnesses.
We have scraped by another hard place in the road, we are still here for each other, and continue to draw comfort from having you in our lives.
Stay well!
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: October 10, 2009
After living for the past three years inside Lynn’s Cancer Universe, I had adjusted to the situation: Lynn has cancer. She is The Survivor. I don’t have cancer. I am The Caregiver. Suddenly that neat division of roles disintegrated: I have cancer. But I am still The Caregiver. Lynn still has cancer. But she is now The Caregiver also. All very unsettling, apart from the collapse of my conviction that it could never happen to me.
Diagnosis was Malignant Melanoma, right ear, not too advanced but very dangerous, confirmed by positive biopsy August 24th, mandating immediate ear surgery plus removal of lymph nodes (neck). Lynn assumed The Caregiver role instantly with her usual love, dedication and organization. She drove me to my appointments and surgeries, was at my side every moment.
Together we sweated out the absurd delays in finally scheduling the surgery. It was supposed to have been not just “ASAP”, but “Yesterday”. But it took nearly six weeks (of sleepless nights) before the two specialty surgeons (Oncology and Reconstruction) could manipulate their schedules to meet me in the O/R on Oct 2nd.
Result: all biopsies now negative; I’m left with a weird right ear, Back to my Caregiver role but now a legitimate member of our local Cancer Survivors Group.
Lynn:
A wrenching surprise! No less anxiety-producing, but coming from a very different viewpoint.
Instant guilt: why didn’t I notice the telltale mark sooner? How long had it been there? Guilt is all about self-involvement, not a sterling quality for a caregiver. I was jarred into looking beyond myself and finding ways to comfort Michael and bring a sense of normalcy to our lives.
This role reversal has sharpened our attention to the moment, what we can do for each other now. I perceive more balance. The timing is good, coming when I feel stronger, more capable and more confident about managing, with ongoing help from my spouse, two illnesses.
We have scraped by another hard place in the road, we are still here for each other, and continue to draw comfort from having you in our lives.
Stay well!
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: October 10, 2009
Friday, October 9, 2009
No Change
“No interval change in hepatic metastatic disease,” reports the radiologist of the abdominal CT image.
“No change mediastinal nodal mass,” reports the radiologist of the chest CT.
Lymph nodes are “Unchanged” in five views and “stable” in the sixth view with “No evidence of disease progression,” in the neck CT.
These are the results of the imaging series. Blood analyses results not yet available.
Lovely words! I could bear hearing those words over and over again!
Each of you had a part in bringing this about. Our thoughts, prayers and affirmations are with every one of you with joyful hymns of thanks.
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: October 9, 2009
“No change mediastinal nodal mass,” reports the radiologist of the chest CT.
Lymph nodes are “Unchanged” in five views and “stable” in the sixth view with “No evidence of disease progression,” in the neck CT.
These are the results of the imaging series. Blood analyses results not yet available.
Lovely words! I could bear hearing those words over and over again!
Each of you had a part in bringing this about. Our thoughts, prayers and affirmations are with every one of you with joyful hymns of thanks.
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: October 9, 2009
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Check Up Itinerary
Soon we will be returning to Charleston for the every-three-month check up to monitor the status of the cancer tumors.
The CT scans of my thyroid, and chest/abdomen/pelvis will be checked against those taken on the previous visit. Any changes in the size of the tumors will be noted in the radiologists’ reports and passed along to our oncologist for his meeting with us.
We are concerned about the amount of radiation I absorb and accumulate from these frequent scans over the long term of the study. This is one of the risks we accepted in order to participate in the study of the experimental chemotherapy Zactima.
The check up concludes with a blood analysis of seven different cartridges of blood, an electrocardiogram and consultation with the oncologist. He reviews and explains the results of the imaging and blood work, notes any changes I report for symptoms and side effects, and conducts a physical exam. He also patiently answers the many questions we have accumulated during the previous three months.
One of my responsibilities as a participant is to maintain a log for the twelve weeks between visits. These track the frequency of bowel movements, prescription pain medication taken, measurements of pain – where and how much – and “Quality of Life.” For the latter, I rank, on a five-point scale from “Not at All” to “Very Much”, such things as the severity of symptoms and side effects, how close I feel to friends and family, the emotions I experience, such as worry and anxiety, and how the illness affects work, sleep and fun.
In addition to the medical necessities, we make sure we include the fun part by exploring the many fine museums and traditional Low Country cuisine offered in this gracious and elegant city.
Stay well!
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 19, 2009
The CT scans of my thyroid, and chest/abdomen/pelvis will be checked against those taken on the previous visit. Any changes in the size of the tumors will be noted in the radiologists’ reports and passed along to our oncologist for his meeting with us.
We are concerned about the amount of radiation I absorb and accumulate from these frequent scans over the long term of the study. This is one of the risks we accepted in order to participate in the study of the experimental chemotherapy Zactima.
The check up concludes with a blood analysis of seven different cartridges of blood, an electrocardiogram and consultation with the oncologist. He reviews and explains the results of the imaging and blood work, notes any changes I report for symptoms and side effects, and conducts a physical exam. He also patiently answers the many questions we have accumulated during the previous three months.
One of my responsibilities as a participant is to maintain a log for the twelve weeks between visits. These track the frequency of bowel movements, prescription pain medication taken, measurements of pain – where and how much – and “Quality of Life.” For the latter, I rank, on a five-point scale from “Not at All” to “Very Much”, such things as the severity of symptoms and side effects, how close I feel to friends and family, the emotions I experience, such as worry and anxiety, and how the illness affects work, sleep and fun.
In addition to the medical necessities, we make sure we include the fun part by exploring the many fine museums and traditional Low Country cuisine offered in this gracious and elegant city.
Stay well!
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 19, 2009
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Mood and Food
Nausea is thoroughly disabling, sometimes stealthy, other times striking with meteoric impact. It sours a cheerful mood, disarms initiative, clouds reason and skews perception. Positive thoughts languish while negativisms multiply.
This kind of nausea persists without the satisfaction of a good, stomach-clearing vomit, signaling the beginning of relief. I spend hours on edge, expecting any moment to fling the contents of my stomach into a basin. Then the nausea slinks off, snatching away the satisfaction of bringing it to fruition, then stomping it out.
During this illness, I have sought explanations for nausea in hopes of concocting a remedy. I looked first at my food intake: patterns or ingredients provoking a gastric rebellion against a culinary insult, such as too many jalapenos. I log the fluctuations of nausea in a vain attempt to identify recurring connections with various foods. A year of scribbling has revealed no suspicious relationships.
Nausea fuels mood swings. I have learned to tolerate a low level of constant nausea with minimal flattening of mood. As the nausea level rises, my mood plummets. This illness has tilted me from an awareness of the need for preparedness, formerly an admirable character trait, into a world-class worrier, a burdensome status. For each situation, I seek all possible causes for concern. Since preparedness didn’t help avert cancer, my reasoning goes, perhaps worry can compensate, ex post facto, for this failing and help restore a sense of productive self-management.
Ah, the meanderings of an under-occupied mind! This is the point at which my more tolerant friends would say: “Get a life!” Stay well!
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 10, 2009
This kind of nausea persists without the satisfaction of a good, stomach-clearing vomit, signaling the beginning of relief. I spend hours on edge, expecting any moment to fling the contents of my stomach into a basin. Then the nausea slinks off, snatching away the satisfaction of bringing it to fruition, then stomping it out.
During this illness, I have sought explanations for nausea in hopes of concocting a remedy. I looked first at my food intake: patterns or ingredients provoking a gastric rebellion against a culinary insult, such as too many jalapenos. I log the fluctuations of nausea in a vain attempt to identify recurring connections with various foods. A year of scribbling has revealed no suspicious relationships.
Nausea fuels mood swings. I have learned to tolerate a low level of constant nausea with minimal flattening of mood. As the nausea level rises, my mood plummets. This illness has tilted me from an awareness of the need for preparedness, formerly an admirable character trait, into a world-class worrier, a burdensome status. For each situation, I seek all possible causes for concern. Since preparedness didn’t help avert cancer, my reasoning goes, perhaps worry can compensate, ex post facto, for this failing and help restore a sense of productive self-management.
Ah, the meanderings of an under-occupied mind! This is the point at which my more tolerant friends would say: “Get a life!” Stay well!
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 10, 2009
Friday, September 4, 2009
Grief
During the last year of my mother’s life, I made four trips to Texas thinking I was preparing myself for her departure and wanting to spend as much time as possible with her. Reflections on what my life might be like afterwards collided with a wall of incomprehension, a conscious awareness that I was unable to gain insight into my feelings or prepare a First Aid Kit for Feelings that would help me get through the aftermath of her passing.
The best I could do was to attempt clear communication about what our life together had meant to me and how her being in it made a difference for me. That was my resolve. But the wall of incomprehension remained unbreachable. Throughout her life we had difficulty communicating, and simple desire to do so as the end of her life approached was insufficient to clear the hurdle. My first thought as she stepped across the threshold of awareness was: “Oh! Just one more thing, Mom.”
Grief, to me, has come to mean simply the inability to converse. All conversations with the absent one become one-way communications with imaginary responses. Mostly I grieved for her through my dreams with a sense that we were having another visit, perhaps another chance to communicate that “last thing.” In the four years she has been gone, I have gradually come to know her better by revisiting memories through the prism of common experience that she negotiated before I passed that way. In that sense I feel she is still with me. That is a comfort.
Stay well; your company comforts me.
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 4, 2009
The best I could do was to attempt clear communication about what our life together had meant to me and how her being in it made a difference for me. That was my resolve. But the wall of incomprehension remained unbreachable. Throughout her life we had difficulty communicating, and simple desire to do so as the end of her life approached was insufficient to clear the hurdle. My first thought as she stepped across the threshold of awareness was: “Oh! Just one more thing, Mom.”
Grief, to me, has come to mean simply the inability to converse. All conversations with the absent one become one-way communications with imaginary responses. Mostly I grieved for her through my dreams with a sense that we were having another visit, perhaps another chance to communicate that “last thing.” In the four years she has been gone, I have gradually come to know her better by revisiting memories through the prism of common experience that she negotiated before I passed that way. In that sense I feel she is still with me. That is a comfort.
Stay well; your company comforts me.
Copyright 2009
Lynn Chapman-Adler
www.lindalater.blogspot.com
Posted: September 4, 2009
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