Boxes are still running my life. You'd think that four-plus weeks after the move, I'd be unpacked and settled in. Hasn't happened yet. I guess I've got a good excuse. In my usual perfect timing, I came down with a sinus infection five days before the move. Antibiotics knocked it back pretty quickly, but not before the infection wiped me out. That and yet-another round of chemo — this one on the heels of the move — knocked me back into last year. Usually, the Tuesday to Thursday chemo leaves me fatigued through Saturday. This time the whole weekend came and went and I did squat. Just opening a box took enough out of me that I'd either sit for a while or, more likely, take a nap. Even Sparky got tired of napping!
I did finally start to feel better by the following weekend, but then it was time to gear up for another round of chemo. The good news is I now have eight rounds under my belt and only four to go. Boxes will be in my life as long as they need to be.
Things chemo, moving and divorce have taught me:
We lived a very peaceful life in Dove Canyon for nearly 15 years. Maybe too peaceful. It was the kind of neighborhood where you pulled your car into your garage, closed the door and cocooned in your house or back yard, rarely to be seen. If I hadn't been an avid (if sporadic) gardener, I doubt I'd see a neighbor for days. So I've enjoyed rediscovering the sounds of life that occur in my rental townhome. Kids actually play outside. Sirens whiz down Lake Forest Parkway. Even the occasional rumble of my neighbor's home theater sound system doesn't bother me. An added bonus: An ice cream truck cruises the neighborhood like clockwork at 5 p.m. each day. I'd forgotten there were such things. (So far, I've resisted temptation.)
I am ready for chemo to be done. My platelet count is low, so every little bump becomes a major bruise. I know I should be thankful that chemo has gone as smoothly as it has. Aside from the fatigue during chemo weeks, my other big side effect has been thinning hair. How bad is it? Let's just say I keep a lint roller by my bed so I can swipe clean my pillow each morning. I know I should be thankful that I still have hair — however sparse — all over my head. At least it's not like breast cancer chemo which leaves most women temporarily bald. However, it drives me a little crazy that Nate has taken to shaving his head. If he doesn't want that hair, I'd take it! The good news: It takes about a third of the time to blow dry my hair these days.
The other good thing chemo has done is kill my appetite. During one of my early chemo sessions, I panicked when I overheard a woman complaining that she'd gained 10 pounds during chemo. Since I'd dropped 10 pounds during the "divorce" year, and lost 5 more after my colon surgery, I wasn't eager to think about packing the pounds back on. Fortunately, I've lost 20 more. Chemo makes food taste differently — and not in a good way. Things taste bland or metallic; chewing is exhausting; swallowing an effort. Even when something sounds good, halfway through the meal it loses its appeal. Consequently, I don't each much during the chemo weeks. I think my stomach has shrunk, so that even on off-chemo weeks, I fill up pretty quickly. Can't decide if this has been the easiest or hardest 35 pounds I've ever lost! Makes me laugh: My good friend Shari has taken to calling me The Incredible Shrinking Woman.
I worried that the move would make the divorce more "real," and thought that I might sink into a major funk. However, it's been rather peaceful not having to tap dance around a soon-to-be-ex. I think I did my grieving while we were still living under the same roof. I'm still not happy to be divorcing, but I do know I will survive. A favorite quote: I can be changed by what happens to me. I refuse to be reduced by it. —Maya Angelou
Back to my boxes.
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label moving. Show all posts
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Too much stuff
The world did not end on May 21, as predicted by apocalyptic Christian broadcaster Harold Camping. I would have been royally pissed if I did all that packing and moving, only to have the world end the day after my big move. Thankfully, it didn't. (Although, as I look around at these stacks boxes and jumbled rooms, the end of the world does hold a certain allure.)
So, the big moving day has come and gone and I have way too much stuff. Despite what felt like a major purge that included a garage sale, much paper shredding, many, many, many charitable donations, and a huge storage space, downsizing from a 3400-square foot house into a 1500-square-foot townhome has convinced me that 10 pounts of s--- won't fit in a 5-pound bag. Fortunately, one of our first pieces of mail was from another charity seeking donations. As I unpack, I've already started a pile of things I was crazy to move. The purge continues.
Even after an exhausting day, it was amusing to watch five grown men try to squeeze a 34-inch wide refrigerator through a 30-inch wide doorway. From our view on the patio, Amanda and I could clearly see the fridge wouldn't fit without removing the doors. Still, they persisted, each mover offering what he thought would be the magic maneuver to make it fit. Thirty minutes later, they took the doors off and squeezed the fridge in the house.
This move would not have happened without tremendous help from Amanda and Nathan, who each did yeoman's work, most of it without complaint. Off to a slow start, soon-to-be-ex Mark even came through in the end. My Realtor friend Grace put in countless hours hauling me around over the last year as I struggled to picture myself in a different place. My friend Maggie pitched in with numerous packing and hauling tasks. She even had a great idea for arranging furniture in the new place. Other friends who pitched in included my long-time buddy Shari, my bookstore partner Denise, my (long-ago) walking buddy Martha and her husband Bill. Amanda's friend Ashley and Nathan's friend Alex also came to my aid. Even the friends who didn't physically pitch in gave much needed moral support along the way. Nothing like a life crisis (or two) to help you figure out who your friends are. Thank you every one!!!
Back to boxes ...
So, the big moving day has come and gone and I have way too much stuff. Despite what felt like a major purge that included a garage sale, much paper shredding, many, many, many charitable donations, and a huge storage space, downsizing from a 3400-square foot house into a 1500-square-foot townhome has convinced me that 10 pounts of s--- won't fit in a 5-pound bag. Fortunately, one of our first pieces of mail was from another charity seeking donations. As I unpack, I've already started a pile of things I was crazy to move. The purge continues.
Even after an exhausting day, it was amusing to watch five grown men try to squeeze a 34-inch wide refrigerator through a 30-inch wide doorway. From our view on the patio, Amanda and I could clearly see the fridge wouldn't fit without removing the doors. Still, they persisted, each mover offering what he thought would be the magic maneuver to make it fit. Thirty minutes later, they took the doors off and squeezed the fridge in the house.
This move would not have happened without tremendous help from Amanda and Nathan, who each did yeoman's work, most of it without complaint. Off to a slow start, soon-to-be-ex Mark even came through in the end. My Realtor friend Grace put in countless hours hauling me around over the last year as I struggled to picture myself in a different place. My friend Maggie pitched in with numerous packing and hauling tasks. She even had a great idea for arranging furniture in the new place. Other friends who pitched in included my long-time buddy Shari, my bookstore partner Denise, my (long-ago) walking buddy Martha and her husband Bill. Amanda's friend Ashley and Nathan's friend Alex also came to my aid. Even the friends who didn't physically pitch in gave much needed moral support along the way. Nothing like a life crisis (or two) to help you figure out who your friends are. Thank you every one!!!
Back to boxes ...
Monday, May 9, 2011
Moving on, literally and figuratively
My house looks like it's been ransacked, but packing does that to you. The sale of our house of nearly 14 years is proceeding smoothly with closing scheduled for May 20. (We'll have 3 days after that to vacate the premises.) Amanda and I spent lots of time looking at rental options on realtor.com and, with the help of my Realtor friend Grace, we settled on a townhouse in Lake Forest, about 20 minutes from here. Now that we have a new place lined up, everything else seems so much more real.
The owner has been nice enough to allow us patio access before the lease even starts, so we've made several trips over with my multitude of potted plants, plant stands and assorted tables and chairs. After decades of gardening in yards where the work is never done, I'm looking forward to "container" gardening where I might actually get everything looking good and be able to relax and enjoy the outdoor space without thinking: "There's another flower bed that needs weeding or planting."
Nathan's home for three weeks, so I have some muscle at my disposal. Typical Nathan, he called me Thursday afternoon on his way to the airport in Longview, Texas. He was 15 minutes away for a flight that was leaving in 20 minutes. Arrrrrgh. Actually, the Longview airport is so small that he had a slight chance of still making the flight. But, alas, the doors to the plane were closed so he had to bunk in with a friend and fly out Friday. It's good to have him home and if he ever stands still long enough, I want to measure his height. I swear he's taller than 6-foot-3.
Nathan was one of my concerns in rental house hunting. He'll hardly be in California for the coming year (summer in Ohio playing in a wood-bat league and then his final year of college in Texas). Amanda and I could have made due with a two-bedroom, but I wanted him to have "a space to call home." The townhouse has four bedrooms (tiny, tiny, tiny), so even Sparky gets a room!
Mark is "too busy" to find a place, so he's opting to live in a hotel for the coming year. With rents so high in California and his company's corporate discount at this hotel, it makes sense financially. Personally, I think it's strange, but I keep reminding myself I don't (pick your verb) get to / have to / need to manage his life anymore.
Chemo looms tomorrow — my sixth of 12 treatments — so the rest of the week will be wiped out. Hopefully by the weekend when the lease starts, I'll rally and be able to make a few trips over with lamps, pictures and other assorted stuff that's too hard to pack up for movers to handle. I've got some friends lined up to make some car trips and once my "stuff" starts to occupy my new space, a new page will be turned in my life.
One wrinkle: A few weeks ago, I rolled over to sleep on my stomach and felt a lumpy thing in my abdomen. Lumpy things are scary when you already have cancer. I mentioned it to my oncologist, who felt it and decided to order an ultrasound. (The ultrasound experience may be a blog entry of its own titled: "What's wrong with medicine today.") Anyway, best thinking is it's a seroma, which is "a pocket of clear serous fluid that sometimes develops in the body after surgery. When small blood vessels are ruptured, blood plasma can seep out; inflammation caused by dying injured cells also contributes to the fluid." (Thank you, Wikipedia.) This apparently has been developing since my January colon resection surgery. In the short term, it means a trip to my surgeon, Dr. Shaver, for a look-see on Thursday. In the long term, it could mean needle aspiration of the fluid or surgery to place a drain in my gut. Neither one sounds like fun, but at least no one is thinking it's a new tumor. Just one more hurdle on my road back to health.
The owner has been nice enough to allow us patio access before the lease even starts, so we've made several trips over with my multitude of potted plants, plant stands and assorted tables and chairs. After decades of gardening in yards where the work is never done, I'm looking forward to "container" gardening where I might actually get everything looking good and be able to relax and enjoy the outdoor space without thinking: "There's another flower bed that needs weeding or planting."
Nathan's home for three weeks, so I have some muscle at my disposal. Typical Nathan, he called me Thursday afternoon on his way to the airport in Longview, Texas. He was 15 minutes away for a flight that was leaving in 20 minutes. Arrrrrgh. Actually, the Longview airport is so small that he had a slight chance of still making the flight. But, alas, the doors to the plane were closed so he had to bunk in with a friend and fly out Friday. It's good to have him home and if he ever stands still long enough, I want to measure his height. I swear he's taller than 6-foot-3.
Nathan was one of my concerns in rental house hunting. He'll hardly be in California for the coming year (summer in Ohio playing in a wood-bat league and then his final year of college in Texas). Amanda and I could have made due with a two-bedroom, but I wanted him to have "a space to call home." The townhouse has four bedrooms (tiny, tiny, tiny), so even Sparky gets a room!
Mark is "too busy" to find a place, so he's opting to live in a hotel for the coming year. With rents so high in California and his company's corporate discount at this hotel, it makes sense financially. Personally, I think it's strange, but I keep reminding myself I don't (pick your verb) get to / have to / need to manage his life anymore.
Chemo looms tomorrow — my sixth of 12 treatments — so the rest of the week will be wiped out. Hopefully by the weekend when the lease starts, I'll rally and be able to make a few trips over with lamps, pictures and other assorted stuff that's too hard to pack up for movers to handle. I've got some friends lined up to make some car trips and once my "stuff" starts to occupy my new space, a new page will be turned in my life.
One wrinkle: A few weeks ago, I rolled over to sleep on my stomach and felt a lumpy thing in my abdomen. Lumpy things are scary when you already have cancer. I mentioned it to my oncologist, who felt it and decided to order an ultrasound. (The ultrasound experience may be a blog entry of its own titled: "What's wrong with medicine today.") Anyway, best thinking is it's a seroma, which is "a pocket of clear serous fluid that sometimes develops in the body after surgery. When small blood vessels are ruptured, blood plasma can seep out; inflammation caused by dying injured cells also contributes to the fluid." (Thank you, Wikipedia.) This apparently has been developing since my January colon resection surgery. In the short term, it means a trip to my surgeon, Dr. Shaver, for a look-see on Thursday. In the long term, it could mean needle aspiration of the fluid or surgery to place a drain in my gut. Neither one sounds like fun, but at least no one is thinking it's a new tumor. Just one more hurdle on my road back to health.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Just another complication
'Twas the night before chemo and all through the house ...
All the creatures were stirring, and so was the house.
Just to complicate life further, we may have a nibble on the house. OK, so it's not an official offer. Just a report from our listing agent. A couple who came to see our house on Friday apparently liked it enough to inquire if we would consider a 30-day closing. Apparently, they are cash buyers (not too many of those floating around these days) with an ill family member and they want to get settled quickly. They wanted to come back and see the house again tomorrow afternoon — chemo day — but I had to beg off because I just don't know how I'll be feeling. They are considering another house near us, but supposedly ours is the leading contender. They are scheduled to come again Wednesday.
Many people probably think I'm crazy to even consider selling/moving amid chemo. Secretly, I think my sister is one of them! And she may be right. She has pointed out that I'm right in the middle of three of life's major stresses: divorce, cancer and moving. The first two were out of my control, and I've turned control of the third over to the Real Estate Gods.
After my surgery, when it became apparent that chemo was in my future, my soon-to-be-ex generously offered to put everything on hold until I'm done with chemo — no more divorce negotiations, take the house off the market, focus on getting better. It was a kind and tempting offer, but I turned it down. I'm afraid that if everything goes on hiatus, it will feel like starting divorce proceedings and house selling from square one when chemo's done. Right now, I'm mentally prepared for divorce and leaving my "forever home": Not happy about it, but ready to deal with both and get on with my "next" life.
So, I've turned my future living arrangements over to the Real Estate Gods. If a good enough offer comes in during chemo, a move is in my future. If not, I've lost nothing and can muddle through chemo in my cozy little downstairs bedroom. The fact that Mark and I are still amiably living under the same roof is an interesting ("Awkward," says Amanda) twist to our divorce. But, hey, the house is plenty big and he works long hours anyway.
Got my chemo port put in last Thursday. Surgery was easy, but I seem to have developed an intolerance to anything taped to my body. The 4-by-5-inch adhesive bandaging covering the port has been itching like crazy. I've gently loosen much of the adhesive and tried to soothe my reddened skin with lotion and antibiotic ointment, to no avail.
Another "fringe benefit" to the chemo port is that it apparently sets off sensors. Amanda and I were popping into Kohl's Sunday night when the alarms started beeping. I'm looking around to see who's sneaking out with unpaid goods. Amanda says, "Mom, that's you!" Then she reminded me that I left the surgical center with a "Medical Alert Identification Card" that I'm supposed to carry in my wallet. I can't wait to see what I do at airports these days!
All the creatures were stirring, and so was the house.
Just to complicate life further, we may have a nibble on the house. OK, so it's not an official offer. Just a report from our listing agent. A couple who came to see our house on Friday apparently liked it enough to inquire if we would consider a 30-day closing. Apparently, they are cash buyers (not too many of those floating around these days) with an ill family member and they want to get settled quickly. They wanted to come back and see the house again tomorrow afternoon — chemo day — but I had to beg off because I just don't know how I'll be feeling. They are considering another house near us, but supposedly ours is the leading contender. They are scheduled to come again Wednesday.
Many people probably think I'm crazy to even consider selling/moving amid chemo. Secretly, I think my sister is one of them! And she may be right. She has pointed out that I'm right in the middle of three of life's major stresses: divorce, cancer and moving. The first two were out of my control, and I've turned control of the third over to the Real Estate Gods.
After my surgery, when it became apparent that chemo was in my future, my soon-to-be-ex generously offered to put everything on hold until I'm done with chemo — no more divorce negotiations, take the house off the market, focus on getting better. It was a kind and tempting offer, but I turned it down. I'm afraid that if everything goes on hiatus, it will feel like starting divorce proceedings and house selling from square one when chemo's done. Right now, I'm mentally prepared for divorce and leaving my "forever home": Not happy about it, but ready to deal with both and get on with my "next" life.
So, I've turned my future living arrangements over to the Real Estate Gods. If a good enough offer comes in during chemo, a move is in my future. If not, I've lost nothing and can muddle through chemo in my cozy little downstairs bedroom. The fact that Mark and I are still amiably living under the same roof is an interesting ("Awkward," says Amanda) twist to our divorce. But, hey, the house is plenty big and he works long hours anyway.
Got my chemo port put in last Thursday. Surgery was easy, but I seem to have developed an intolerance to anything taped to my body. The 4-by-5-inch adhesive bandaging covering the port has been itching like crazy. I've gently loosen much of the adhesive and tried to soothe my reddened skin with lotion and antibiotic ointment, to no avail.
Another "fringe benefit" to the chemo port is that it apparently sets off sensors. Amanda and I were popping into Kohl's Sunday night when the alarms started beeping. I'm looking around to see who's sneaking out with unpaid goods. Amanda says, "Mom, that's you!" Then she reminded me that I left the surgical center with a "Medical Alert Identification Card" that I'm supposed to carry in my wallet. I can't wait to see what I do at airports these days!
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