Not better, just different

 

It’s not quite any anniversary or milestone; but I’ve felt the writing bug coming on. There’s lots to share, but lots we can’t yet share.

Earlier this month, someone well intentioned asked if Dom is better. It’s been playing in my mind ever since. Dominic is not getting better. I don’t think people want to hear it. We certainly don’t want to hear it. But it seems to be the plain truth right now.

I think it’s an easy assumption to make. He’s had all this treatment, of course he should be getting better, right?

He was getting better until May of 2018. That was just 5 months after the transplant; and almost a year after the cancer diagnosis. From the transplant in November 2017 until the following May, he was walking and getting stronger and stronger. But if you’ll remember, he had the acute graft vs host disease that nearly took his life. Yes. He’s better since then. He gained back half of the weight he’d lost. He can walk again. He is better since that terrible summer.

But, he’s not getting better. The chronic graft vs host is something we live with. 

Our last visit to Dr. Kiwan was very sobering. He pulled up information on his computer screen and showed us how very little there is by way of treatment for Dom’s condition. (I say condition, gvhd, as if it’s singular, but it is actually multiple battles on multiple fronts.) The treatment he’d been receiving for many years, that I wondered if it was actually effective, is now no longer included in the roster of treatments. We’ve pretty much exhausted all modern science has to offer. 

Nevertheless, we are collecting doctors and practitioners like beads on a string. When I log into his medical account, where he once had an oncologist and a family doctor, he now has a team of upwards of a dozen people who are all working together to improve the quality of Dom’s life. Isn’t that something? I tear up just thinking about how many caretakers he has, and they’ve all been very kind and compassionate.

The latest treatment he’s been receiving, the monoclonal antibodies, does seem to be working for his kidneys. That is good. However, the treatment causes a loss of appetite, so he takes more pills to help with that. I’m happy to see his lab work coming more normal.

The worst bit right now is how damaged his lungs have become. The treatment for that currently in the 4 options Dr. Kiwan showed us is a lung transplant. Gasp. We’re not even close to that. 

I think in the shuffle with changing doctors and protocols, the severity of his lung issue got sort of overlooked because his kidneys were so concerning. But, a wet winter dialed up the volume. Let me digress a minute here. We’ve been blessed to live in a home on a beautiful piece of land that has been an oasis through all of this. 

The problem is, this home was never meant to be a home. Just as I discovered some real acute mold problems in the siding, and had set my mind to having some major work done on the house; the owner decided he wasn’t sure if he was going to sell or not. It’s put me in a bit of a rock and hard place, because I’m not investing thousands of dollars into a property that is not mine, if I may have to leave at any moment. This is not me asking for advice about the mold. Resist! 

All of that was to say, it’s been rough for Dom. Thankfully, the heat wave this past week has brought him some relief there. 

But, we did add a pulmonologist to the string of beads, and had a very productive consultation yesterday. It was our fourth medical appointment in one week. We have two more next week. There’s a new treatment plan for his breathing that I have fingers crossed will give him some real relief. More tests may alter or add to the course, but we feel relieved there is movement there.

I’m going to overshare now. Okay? Are you ready? I had to deal with a lot of really gross bodily functions throughout Dom’s illness. I’ve had to catch things and dump things and clean things, and carry jugs of things, and hoo boy. It is not for the faint of heart. But I could do it. No problem. 

But there is one function I cannot tolerate. I’ll give you a hint. I can’t really watch baseball. We have to bring a sample to the lab. Please pray for me that I am not in the house while he produces this sample, and that he puts it in a paper bag so I don’t have to see said sample? Thank you.

The doctor wants to rule out a fungal or viral infection in his lungs, so that’s that.

Now. Back to our home. Our beloved little cottage on the edge of a State Park. The property was put on the market officially. It’s been a lot for me to process. I’ve lived here for 30 years. I’ve lived here longer than any of the family members have lived here. I got married here. I’ve said good bye to over half a dozen pets here. I’ve had pumpkin patches in no less than 4 spots. I’ve had parties and celebrations with countless friends here. This place has my heart.

It also has 30 years worth of maybe I’ll need that one day.

Holy moly.

The problem is, there’s been so many times I reached into my Mary Poppins bag/house and did have some obscure thing I or someone else needed. It’s been positive reinforcement for hoarding. 

I just took a full load in my wagon to Forgotten Felines and Habitat for Humanity. I have five sizes of clothes up in here, and it’s time for some reckoning. All my spare time is being spent sorting and cleaning and prepping. It’s good. I love this sort of thing. But, it’s also a lot of work. The combination of ADHD and not tossing anything in the land fill if I can help it makes for a never ending list of to dos.

We do have a plan. That’s the part I’m not at liberty just yet to share. But we do have a plan. It will be a big change. It will have its challenges and it will have some real silver linings. I cannot wait to share the silver linings. 

Lots of change afoot for sure. 

And, since I wrote this draft on Saturday; we’ve been to appointment #5. Dominic will be getting oxygen to help him out. The plan for this appointment was to have him walk the halls until he needed oxygen to gauge how soon he’d be short of breath just walking. Um. He was already well below healthy levels just getting to the appointment. The therapist was very sympathetic to his plight.

Having an oxygen pack will help him not just to breathe, but to think and have energy. 

He’ll need that energy for what lies ahead! 

And, since I’m being evasive about what our plan is, I will say, England is not currently in the plan. We’d love to be closer to his family, but his sister and her husband are not even currently in the UK.

I wrote before on this blog about liminal spaces. I feel even more there than before. The house could sell next week, or not at all. I’m doing all I can to pivot. I don’t want to live wading through moving boxes; but I certainly can afford to part with a few things. 

Dom is parting with his 84 Toyota. It was a dream of his to fix it up and turn it into bio-diesel or some such. With the house on the market, we decided to let it go. Many people had asked to be notified if we were ever to sell it. The contractor who repaired the big house last year was one, and so we gave him a shout. He rolled up in a cherry red Toyota, so we know it’s in good hands. A dream deferred for us is an opportunity for him, and for the Toyota. It’s good. He’s a good man, and we’re happy.

Not to be outdone, (wink)

I’m sending a jewelry box I have had since I was 10, so for a really, really long time to a friend’s daughter. I remember going to the Cotton Candy Pink Sanrio/Hello Kitty store in the mall and agonizing over where I would spend my dimes. I wanted to eat my way through the Japanese confections and play with the stickers and toys in a sugar haze.

For my tenth birthday, I asked for a Little Twin Stars jewelry box.

I loved that little plastic jewelry box so much, I always imagined I’d pass it on to a daughter. (I have my Grandma’s Lane miniature cedar chest jewelry box). I saw my friend’s daughter in a little pink t-shirt with pink Sanrio characters and knew immediately she should have the box.

I’m sure sending off that little box will put a large dent in belongings. (eyeroll)

But seriously, it’s so nice to reflect on good memories, and anticipate new memories to be made. 

We have a lot to look forward to, and I can’t wait to share what is around the corner. I'll miss this pony Pip next door, but who knows what new friends we'll make!?

Until then, we're enjoying every minute. 

Hope you are all well and know you are loved.

The Bronze Age

 As families in the U.S. gather to celebrate Thanksgiving today, I'm reflecting on the 8 year anniversary (tomorrow), of Dom's transplant. Or, his re-birthday, as it were. 

And we are so thankful.

Eight years ago, we spent our Thanksgiving with hospital staff, as Dom was being prepped for the life-saving and life-altering event of someone else's stem cells being dripped into his veins.

Bronze is the traditional gift of 8 years of marriage. It is stronger than both iron and copper, the gifts of the two previous years. (How I wish I'd asked for copper cookware on our 7th anniversary!). So, on this 8 year anniversary for Dom with his new stem cells, I wish him the strength of bronze; stronger than the 2 years prior put together.

It's been an eventful year medically.

In May, we heard rumor his doctor who had been with him through the entire 8 year journey was set to retire. Indeed, in June, we had our last visit. It was a sad farewell. He expressed to us that we felt like family. In truth, we did see more of him than our own families, (with the exception of my dear mom.) We always had a lovely visit and a good laugh when we saw him every 2-3 weeks.

His departure coincided with the approval of a new drug treatment for gvhd. So, the new doctor was eager for a whole new protocol. Our first visit was a flurry of questions and information. Dr. Kiwan is from Lebanon and retains a lovely accent. Which, combined with the tenor of his voice and the amount of information he presents kind of left us like 

He asked how far away various hospitals were, and the answer was always, the traffic would kill us. He'd inherited most of Dr. Carrol's patients, and was probably doing a little house cleaning. He also understood it's been a very long haul for us. He discussed the new treatment option and we agreed to a new plan. The irony is, the new treatment was actually something tried for Covid patients; monoclonal antibodies. It did not work for Covid, but we're hopeful it will work for Dominic. (The irony being, Covid has changed our lives almost as much as the initial cancer.)

We've been in a flurry since June. Dr Kiwan connected us with a local Nephrologist to oversee Dom's kidney function. The gvhd has been pummeling the kidneys. Then he set us up with a local oncologist who oversees the new treatment. Did I mention it's local? Did I mention that?! IT'S LOCAL! After 8 plus years of driving to Sacramento at least once a month, if not twice or more; (that's almost 4 hours round trip), we are just down the road. We get a 3 month hiatus from Sacramento. Dr. Kiwan has deftly handled the situation.

Dom has 3 treatments under his belt. We met with a nurse beforehand who talked us through the whole process, which is yet another infusion. Dominic did have infusions through Dr. Carroll earlier in the year, so we sort of knew our way around. The whole process takes about 3 hours. He feels fine after, but by the third day, he feels like he has the flu. This is common. With that knowledge, we planned for an early Thanksgiving, as today marks flu day; and right on target, he did wake up under the weather.

And, not to be outdone by Dom, this year also marks the year that I got serious about my own health. I will spare you the details, but I have never had to juggle so many appointments in my life. I've had my own minor surgeries and dread. I'm okay today, but there were questions and what-ifs along the way. We had one more minor surgery in our household. We've had a second dumped cat appear. I think I've shared about him in my last post. Unlike Houdini, this cat is a bit more feral. I spent several months befriending him. And then I betrayed him. I've had him neutered, just in case someone dumps a female cat down the road. I may have damaged our relationship forever; but, I felt like it was the right thing to do. 

There's also been a lot going on where we live. The property is in flux, and we're trying to go with the flow.

But, speaking of the property; we are so blessed to live here. People measure success in different ways. I am not successful by most people's standards. But, yesterday, I walked down the driveway and noticed the polo ponies being rounded up on the property semi adjacent. I stood there and watched all the beautiful horses line up and thought how lucky I am to be surrounded by such beauty. 

We watched a beautifully spotted bobcat skulk across the back field yesterday. The fields are turning green again I rescue newts from the pool after a big rain. 

The very large house next to us sits empty, in limbo as I stuff my wee home to the gills with nostalgia and comfort. Some would only see clutter and dust; but my people see the heart; the two people bumbling along tougher in unusual circumstances making it work the best way they know how. Thankful today and every day.

Milestones

 It's time for the biannual update!

We're on to year eight of this journey, and we have not arrived. We've changed, aged, laughed, cried, and seen some things. As I've anticipated this anniversary, I've been thinking about milestones and context. The first day of summer is in less than a week. I think this is the first year I've made the connection between when we went to the ER and the actual date of summer.  Seasons had been so nebulous to me. And, Sacramento summers are much different than Sonoma County summers. The feeling of summer is changing. I don't know how much I perceive summer differently because it is hotter or longer or later or, if it's because it bodes illness and fire. But it definitely lands different each year. 

Before Dom and I got married, I was very detached from the rhythm of seasons and of the land where I live. Over the 25 plus years I've lived here, it's had a few different phases. The first decade, I never noticed the tall grasses and weeds. I kept to the houses and the paths. My life happened elsewhere, in restaurants, churches, yoga studios, beaches, and with friends. I lived here completely alone a couple years, and never saw rattle snakes or coyotes. Once, I saw a cougar crossing the back field. That was a big day. (I saw one later with Dom and that was an even bigger day.) I could hear the coyotes, but never saw them.  Others who have lived here over the years would tell me about the rattle snake they saw slither under my house or they caught in the carport; but I don't recall seeing one until after Dom got sick.

But, before there was Dom, the horses moved in, for a short time. It was delightful to wake up to horses right outside my window. The fencing outside the picture window where I sat and worked was chewed heavily as the horses hung out begging for food and attention. They had a whole field to wander in yet spent much of their days reminding me they exist; lest I forget from moment to moment. I was tasked with cleaning their stalls and feeding them breakfast, and it was a cherished time. I'm not a morning person, I am not a type A, I do not get up and into the day straight away. But when the horses were here, I did step out of bed, into farm clothes and greeted the day with two horses and a pony.

Then they had to move, the family with the horses and the pony. And I was alone again on the ranch. Things were a bit topsy turvy in all areas of my life. And suddenly, I was Mrs. Egan. And suddenly, Dom was on a tractor, as has been a background photo of this blog all these years. And I began noticing things I hadn't before, in part because now we shared more responsibilities together than I ever had alone. And then Dom got sick, and the fires came through and the anticipation of summer had so many more implications than ever before. 

We work hard in the spring preparing for summer; to be as safe as possible. This spring has been particularly busy as the place we live is undergoing yet another transition and we have obligations related. We've also both had more medical appointments than usual. I won't go into mine, they're the stuff of life for a woman in her 50's who completely neglected her health in the onslaught of all Dom's needs. 

But Dom has had extra treatments, which have shaken things up a bit here. His immune system is still not behaving. It continues to attack his vital organs. The doctor decided to try a month of infusions in addition to his regular Apheresis. It was one of the infusions he'd received during chemo before his transplant. The good news is, I was able to advocate to have the second procedure to be done in town. It's been the doctor's m.o. that all procedures happen in house in Sacramento, but I pulled some Puss in Boots Eyes, and he agreed we could get his second procedure locally. Of course, the only dates available conflicted with his already scheduled appointments, and of course the doctor had a vacation overseas planned, and wanted to see Dom before he left, so we had to make extra visits. And of course, after 8 years, Dom's faithful doctor is retiring. We are so sad. We are not supposed to know this yet, but a little bird told us.

It feels like a milestone to be sick for so long that your doctor retires. The first day we went to the local Infusion Center for his treatment, I noticed the bell for cancer patients to ring at the end of their treatment. We never passed the bell in Sacramento, it wasn't in a place we frequented. But there it was, as we wove through the passages of this new to us center; there it was as we anticipated another four rounds of infusions. He finished a week ago last Friday, and we were back in Sacramento yesterday. But, still no bell ringing. Both literally and figuratively.

There's no end date in site. It's our way of life now. The only closer facilities are in the Bay Area, so we're not feeling the need to switch things up. But everything is switching up around us, and we're flowing as best we can. 

We're flowing with a little more ease as we've been gifted a new to us car. The mini got us there and back, and I marveled at how far we could get on a tank of gas. Our new car is a bit more thirsty, but she's quite comfortable, and I imagine if we had her when Dom dropped to 98 pounds, the drive would have been less distressing. But we have her now, and we can't not remark how happy we are to have her. She's Swedish. When I drove her off the lot, I pressed shuffle on my playlist and Abba came on singing The Winner Takes it All. And thereafter, we refer to her as Abba. She's our little dancing queen.

We still lead very quiet lives as the world has moved on, and Dom's health requires us to keep germs at bay. His fatigue also keeps us from straying too far from home. And of course, the cats and chickens. I am grateful we both have temperaments that are suited to this quiet. We know we're missing out on a lot of things. We're not actively choosing to be hobbits. We just are. 

We're both facing all of this in our own way and in our own time. 

We are so grateful for where we live. It is a lot of work, but it is an oasis most of the time. My social media friends know I rescued 2 snakes a couple weeks ago. Something about stumbling on two harmless snakes, mating even, gave me a sense of comfort. It's not all rattle snakes and fires. Nature is doing her thing, and it's glorious. Nature is also transitioning, as the snake rescue guy shared how his observations of snake cycles being different this year.

Everything is in flux right now, and I feel like without the insulation of a "normal" 2 kids and a dog, 9 to 5 life, we're feeling it a little more keenly. And not all flux is bad; there's ebb and flow. Last year was a disaster in our garden. Critters ate everything before we had a chance. I wasn't sure I wanted to put in any effort. In my mind, I catalogued all the things I had done through the years and just wasn't sure what effort I would put forth. In fact, since last November, everything has been low effort on my part. I know there's a connection. But, we rallied for the garden. I mapped out our beds and made a list. We have a couple blueberry bushes and they are ready for harvest just as I'm transitioning to garden mode. I did searches for how to protect our garden from pests and found big, gorgeous cages for sale. Then, instead of buying them, I repurposed some wire fencing we have, added some tulle so they look like two brides, and have since picked bowls of blueberries, as compared to a total of five berries last year. It feels like a win, and Dom and I need all the wins we can get. No win too small.

We're also passing the time trying to woo another stray cat. (That's him in the chair above, napping on the back deck.) Again, my social media friends have already been introduced to Seamus. He appeared out of no where, and considering where we live, is most likely a dumped cat. He left his calling card everywhere. Even if we didn't see him, we knew he'd been around by the spray stains every few feet. We've been wanting to catch him to have him neutered. At first, I was very stressed, as we already mete out time for our two boys outside. We're careful to let them out separately and when we'll be outside to keep watch. I was so concerned about territorial cat fights. But something really sweet happened. Houdini and Seamus have become friends. They greet each other with touching noses and follow each other, jumping from rock to rock hunting, or just flopping out in the sun. When you're hobbits, you have time to watch cats frolic, pick blueberries and shepherd chickens. I suppose you don't have to be hobbits to do these things, but we mark our days by whether or not Seamus has appeared for breakfast.

There's a cutout sign 20'x 20' just outside a little farming community called Dixon. After miles of small communities and farmland, you can see Sacramento in the distance, just as you also see this installation called "Stewards of the Land". It was erected in 2018. If you'll recall, 2018 is when Dom went back into the hospital after his transplant. We'd lived in Sacramento the first few months, and then back again through spring and summer. One day, after we'd made it back home, we noticed the sign and wondered if it had always been there and we hadn't noticed, or if it was new. It's so big, you can't miss it, and we were perplexed by our inability to remember. We now know it was new, and it serves as a milestone to the city for us. It brings me some comfort, some relief, as a signpost that we're heading into the place that makes Dom better. And, because we didn't know the context, we didn't know if there was more story to it, why it was erected, we were probably more fascinated by it than had we known all along it is meant to pay tribute to the farming community. It just seemed so random. (link to the artist and work) Stewards of the Soil

And isn't that how life really is? Signposts in unexpected places, milestones where you never thought you'd need one.

On our way home we remark almost every time on an old roadside diner sign. It's whimsical with a cow jumping over the moon. It signals that we're headed home to rest. The history of the sign adds to our appreciation. Before we knew any of the sign's history, it gave us, shall I say, warm fuzzies.  (As a side note, my surname was Hess, no immediate relation.) Wikipedia:

Karl A. Hess had the idea to build the Milk Farm restaurant in 1919.[1] He built his first restaurant in 1924 on Sievers Road.[2] It moved to the current Milk Farm Road location along Interstate 80 in 1939.[2] Originally called Hess Station,[1] it gained the moniker Milk Farm in 1940 when The Saturday Evening Post wrote an article about it, and also gave Dixon the nickname “Dairy Town” for its contribution to the California dairy industry.[2]

During World War II, Mr. Hess offered various deals, such as an all-you-can-drink milk contest for only 10 cents, pony rides for children, and reasonably priced chicken dinners.[2] The Milk Farm became a hangout for teenagers, and people competed to break the record of the most milk consumed in order to get their names on the restaurant's record board.

10 cent pony rides for children. Isn't that just nostalgia in a tidy little package? While we didn't know specifically about the pony rides, if we had to define what this sign evoked, that would be a good example.

And it's that whiff of nostalgia we feel throughout the year, as we look back on how things have changed, and how they have stayed the same. Some changes we embrace, (like Seamus and Abba) and others not so much. Some changes we don't even recognize until we look back or do some research. They're just giant road signs we notice that may, or may not have been there all along.

Massive love to those who still follow along our little journey. We may not be taking you on a Grand European tour, but wherever we go, there is heart and soul.

*If you leave a comment, leaver your name, if you'd like, so I know who you are!

Are we there yet?

 It's your bi-annual update. The minutes of Dom's recovery for investor's of a heart kind.

The 7th anniversary of Dominic's transplant, considered a re-birthday in transplant circles, came and went on Thanksgiving day this year. How apt.

I anticipated the day, and then it completely slipped my mind as I ate copious amounts of delicious food. On the day of thanks, one of the things I am most thankful for slipped my mind. I blame the pumpkin pie cheesecake. Not the tryptophan as I do not eat turkey.

One thing that weighed on me as the day approached is how grateful I am not just for Dom's extended life, but for all the love that was showered on us, and all the practical gifts of financial aid and the handful of people who made food for us. I found myself randomly composing thank you notes in my head these past few weeks. It's been over seven years now, but the impact lasts a lifetime.

This year hit a little different. We lost Dominic's mum in October, which is also the month we lost his sister in law Alison, just two years before. Dom did not have the energy to make a trip overseas for her service. That reality was something we'd talked through long before we lost her. We are grateful for the wonders of modern technology which allowed him to have conversations with his brother in the UK and sister in Qatar at the same time. It was so lovely hearing everyone, including Sam's husband Phil and Nick's daughter Hannah chatting and sharing stories about Ma and about moving forward.

So, it's not really that the anniversary slipped my mind; it's really that the days have been flying by. I always stop looking at numeric calendar days around Thanksgiving, just knowing, I have to be ready for a feast by the fourth Thursday of the month. And we were very ready this year.

My little reports in June are always full of so much anxiety for the fire season ahead, and come November, (now December), we've had rain, the brown fields have turned green, and the venomous snakes have mostly gone into hibernation. We celebrate giving thanks and fill the house with twinkly lights. It's my favorite time of year. It always goes by too fast. I try so hard to just sit in the season, and let it all soak in.

We're still in the June of Dom's recovery. Every 3 weeks, we go for his treatment and tests, and adjustments are made and there's talk of more frequent treatments and different therapies. I log onto his on line medical records and scan the test results. I live in anxiety that the protein count that indicates how his kidneys are functioning will have bolted again. There's been threats of putting him on a regime that would require weekly visits again, and I fret. I don't think I can do that again.

I'd find a way, if I had to.

But, we're ready for the post rainy season. We're ready for Dom's recovery to be that once a year visit Dr Carroll thought we'd transition to by now. We're well past that period. We're ready, but not there. 

So we continue to do what we can. Someone once said to me if her husband wouldn't do all the social things she loves to do, she didn't know if her marriage would last. What you do is, you adapt. You bend and flow. There's nothing I want to do without Dom at my side. We don't really feel like we're missing out, we're living to the fullest as we're able. And, I'm so grateful for the friends who have bent and adapted with us. It's such a tremendous thing to be so cared for.

And to be able to do it here, on the secluded property where we live, in beautiful Sonoma County, is a wonderful thing. 

We had a lovely visit with friends from Georgia in October. We have comfy outdoor furniture and amazing views and just enjoyed the time together. That visit was followed by my brother and his wife. We'd worked so hard to get the barn space ready for the first visit, it was a breeze by the next. (And our first visitors did a lot of the heavy lifting for me). Then Charlie, who owns our home, came for a visit and we had a gathering to celebrate his daughter's birthday and catch up. 

It's the most company we've had since Covid hit. With his compromised system, we're still very protective against viruses. We're generally open to visits on pleasant days, as we can sit outside and feel a bit safer.

Dominic is still extremely fatigued. He can do things throughout the day, but they're done slowly and with naps. I realized just today that I've had a weensy bit more energy. When we came home after the three month hospital visit, I was a mess. I needed daily naps as if I were the one getting treatment. But, the all night beeps and the worry and the driving were more than a full time job. It's nice to feel a little better. Dom feels a little better as well, but, the reality is, a little better is still not well.

We've made it through another "fire season". The last month of summer and first month of Autumn, we're on pins and needles. When the 2017 fire burned my Mom's house to the ground, it shocked me how little there was left. I've seen house fires here and there. Sometimes, you can't even tell there is damage, except some windows are boarded up, or there's a black singe on a wall. Sometimes, there's a big black hole, but the rest of the house looks pretty intact. I'd never seen the likes of what happened in 2017. What remained of her home was a pile of ash and a shower stall. On a bad day, that feels like what remains here as well. Maybe, if he'd only had Leukemia, he'd look like that house a little boarded up, but mostly intact. This gvhd has been a house fire that has been all consuming.

But Phoenix rise from ashes, not boarded up windows. 

So Dom is returning to himself little by little. He's been drawing every day. He made charcoal to sketch with. He questioned if it would be okay to have a fire after it rained a solid week with absolutely no let up. They call it a bomb cyclone these days. It results in an "atmospheric river" that means a lot of water is dropping in a short amount of time. I breathed a sigh of relief and proclaimed it certainly would be okay if he made a fire outside. I'm thinking a few more this season, just to mix it up. We can unplug from Netflix and bundle up with with the view. 

He's still shepherding the chickens from our ever present bobcats, coyotes, and sly foxes. We love our silly girls and love for them to find slugs and snails amongst the garden areas.

We got a hot tip from a friend that the Northern Lights would possibly make an appearance, so having missed them the first go round, we hopped in the car and made the journey about an hour north and we ticked something off the bucket list. It was such a treat to see them. Perhaps they weren't as dramatic as further north, but they were here and they were mine.

So, we're doing alright. We're on a journey we never thought we'd be on. We also never thought we'd see the Northern Lights all the way down here. But here we are. Taking things as they come and cherishing what is good.

PS: The wonky pool table is open for non-serious pool. 

And this kitty is open for scratches if he's not recovering from a big hunt.

 

 

It Was Seven Years On Saturday

 

It was seven years on Saturday. Seven years since we went to urgent care hoping for an easy answer and instead finding ourselves on the receiving end of a fire-hose of information. The past six years, I have anticipated this day. Marking time. I have thought about how I would mark it in a way to share with others who care to know how we're doing. This year, my thoughts just wouldn't rise to the surface. The day came. The day went. We pushed through. My brain could only emit a steady hum.

But then the thoughts started coalescing. An inspiring piece I read here. A nest of birds taking flight there. The things my heart wants to share are all there, just under the surface, swaying like sea grass and occasionally illuminated by sun piercing through water.

This morning kind of threaded the needle to bring a patchwork of ideas together.

Where to begin? Dom remains pretty much the same. I feel like a broken record here. He struggles to breathe. Walking is an issue as he struggles. He still suffers stomach issues on occasion and eating is not always desirable. He's lost a bit of weight again. It's sometimes difficult to center our thoughts. Is his pain normal or disease? Is his fatigue expected or disease? He wants to be productive and yet, his energy is finite. I push him with a paradoxical message. Do more. Don't do too much. Rest. 

We've been working hard and resting hard.

I've been reading different pieces that share a theme of wonder. Annie Dillard says (paraphrased) how we spend our days is how we spend our lives.

Alexandra Horowitz wrote a book On Looking: Eleven Walks With Expert Eyes. Reading a synopsis, the book is geared toward urban dwellers who are wrapped up in the grind and it's meant to encourage people to see things they may miss in the hurry and scurry. She takes the same walk with different experts and sees through their eyes. It's on my list to read. But it's just one of many pieces I've encountered on this theme of wonder and the humble question of the meaning of life.

What is the meaning of life when one's life has been so pitifully upended? What would you see if you were forced out of the paradigm of finding purpose through children and career, and achievement? People who claim to know the meaning of life still pursue family and career and achievement. Whether they be Buddhist or Christian, I don't know many people who just are. The Christians will tell you their sole purpose for being here is to worship God. The Buddhists will tell you it's enlightenment. And yet, I still see the hurry and scurry among them. I see the worship of family and achievements and the quest for more. There is no judgement. There is only a gratefulness on my part that at the end of the day, the way I spend my days, is how I spend my life. And it feels right and good to spend them in wonder.

We had a pair of House Finches build a nest in a bicycle helmet hanging from a barn rafter. She laid four eggs on Mothers Day and exactly two weeks later, four creatures emerged. They're not very cute those first few days. You'd hardly know they're alive if you couldn't observe feeding time. Another two weeks and one day later, the first baby vibrated right in front of my very eyes and took flight. The next day, the other three found their wings and the nest was empty. We altered our habits for one month. We left the barn doors open with a gate to deter skunks and such. We marked the calendar to keep kitties away when babies would be fledgling.

I photographed every other day and thrilled over each change. I ponder how four weeks is enough time to go from egg to flight, while I'm over half a century and have yet to find my own wings.

We've lived together in the same house for ten years now. I've been here nearly 30. We still get up for the bobcat. The rabbit. The buck or the doe. Whatever we see from our couch looking through the picture window, we go to the window and watch. We pause what we're doing. We pause the idiot box. We pause the conversation. We pause the cooking. We are always keen to see the passersby.

Dominic called me to the front window the other day. A giant buck was emerging from under the deck around the pool up the hill. I'd have to crawl on my hands and knees to get under. I couldn't believe a 4 or 6 point buck could tiny himself enough to crawl under. But he did. And I was fortunate enough to see him going under the next day. He runs across the field like he's got to clock in to work on time. I follow him with my eyes and as if by magic, he has disappeared under the deck. I don't think he's working. And I'm a little jealous as I tap away at the computer for my job. And I'm grateful I have both the environment and the eyes to see. 

I think we're a bit like a person who loses sight or vision. The other senses get stronger. I think, and I could be wrong, when you lose all the world holds up as success, your sense of wonder gets stronger.

I started this little essay with an entirely different thread in mind, and just like that, I stitched together something much different than I envisioned. You see, the events that inspired me to write are the things I most fear. Yesterday, I nearly weed whacked a rattle snake. It was coiled in a little cave of dry grass and looked very much like a cow pie to me. Except we have no cows. I went and got a broom to give a gentle little nudge so I could see its face and all I got was a tongue flick. It was so relaxed and camouflaged, I had no idea if it was a deadly venomous snake or a much desired (rodent eating but not venomous) King Snake. My neighbor came with her snake stick and lifted it out of the grass revealing a very fat snake, With rattles. How brave is she? 

I have a lot of anxiety about venomous snakes. I have a lot of anxiety about wildfires. And, just hours after my snake encounter, the skies darkened and my eyes and throat began to sting. A wildfire just 20 miles or so north harkened the very early arrival of "fire season". Two of my biggest fears came together on the same day. I thought about how summer is a very anxious time for me. It marks the beginning of Dom's health odyssey. The transition is tricky for me and I don't know why. The nights are cold and the days are hot. Summer is not my favorite time of year and I find myself counting down the days until the rain returns.

How funny that the next morning, social media would remind me that nine years ago, I also met a rattlesnake. Little did I know that almost summer day how very much I would and could endure.

And I realize as I meandered through the deep sea grass of my thoughts, that though summer makes me anxious and life is so much different than I thought it would be, I have a heightened sense of wonder that makes life so beautiful. And I cherish having a partner who delights in the small things with me. Perhaps you are gifted with worldly success and wonder. Perhaps you are very fortunate indeed. But, if my greatest achievement in life is counting the days between an egg and flight, who can fault me?

 

Alexander moves to Australia (or Iceland)

 

 

Having always been enthralled with Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, I like to laugh at the absurdity of bad days. Or weeks. Or years. Because, if you know the book, there's always Australia (or Iceland). 😉
*Please, only read this with a sense of humor* No sad faces please.
Wednesday was our 10th anniversary. Yes! 10 years. 7 of which have been dealing with disease, doctors, hospitalizations, and finally, the dreaded Covid. We're waiting for our prize.
We've been squirreled away. Limited contact with the outside world. We're a little feral.
We got very excited about a restaurant getting rave reviews for its gluten free pizza. Dom had just lamented ever having a good pizza again given his restrictions. Then I heard about this place. It has an expansive patio, and we thought we'd risk it for lunch. And if it was too risky, we'd have a picnic nearby. (Dom is still high rick for Covid and Measles as well.)
I packed our cooler with drinks to be prepared.
I pulled out a summer dress I'd bought at Christmas and had tucked away for warm days. I was so excited to have an occasion to wear not just a dress but the dress I'd pined for, for some time before nabbing it in an outrageous sale.
I slipped it over my head and noticed as it shimmied over my shoulders, a giant hole in the back.
A brand new dress kept in a protective bag. Damaged.
I'm a sensitive sort, and it was difficult to not feel a lot of it's not fair. Life is hard. Why me. Over a dress. But wait.
We hopped in the car, sun shining, smiling, anticipating our first date in 7 years. No really.
And then, the car died at a full stop. Huh. I must have stalled it. (Proud driver of a manual here.) Only. It happened again at the next stop. And again. And so, we turned home,
The next day we'd have to be in Sacramento for Dom's treatment. We didn't have time to take the car to a repair shop. Dom did a little research. Went with best case scenario. Fiddled with the oil dipstick, heard a pop, drove up and down the drive with no problem. We decided he'd fixed the problem. Anyone who thinks we're negative nellies does not know the amount of positive thinking we exert on the regular. But our denial/positive thinking got us to Glen Ellen before I ruefully turned the car back toward home.
Mom raced from her house 40 minutes away at the ready and we made it to the appointment just an hour and a half late. Because here's why we didn't cancel our appointment: Dom is their favorite. There was a training happening and they always juggle Dom in on those days because he is so easy going and has the best veins. It's a thing.
And here's why I don't want any sad faces. I got to spend time with my mom and in Ikea. We had cinnamon rolls. (Nicky's are a billion times better, but when in Rome.)
We were an hour and a half late, but only half an hour later than usual headed back home. Neat how time works.

 

We got home to no internet. Someone accidentally cut it. I had a bit of work to catch up on, but had to postpone. I was so frazzled by Friday. I got up early and fed the chickens. A task Dom is usually happy to do. I wandered down to the fish pond/tank after feeding, as it always makes my heart happy. (This is an old photo being enamored with the fish.) On this morning, it did not make my heart happy. The barn is being painted and having minor repairs. Woodpeckers have been tucking acorns in the roof. Someone scraped the acorns out only to fall into the pond. The tannins would leach out and kill the goldfish. I immediately began fishing out acorns and detritus, bailing out water and giving it a spring clean. And we laughed, because what else am I supposed to do without the internet?!
I was feeling real sorry for myself Wednesday, as we were supposed to be celebrating our anniversary.
But by Friday, having run back and forth between house and barn cleaning the tank, fixing the internet, (we currently have 100 feet of cable running across the drive connecting me to you), I didn't have the energy to feel much of anything but grateful for the tub of ice cream in the freezer and the husband I would still say yes to, even knowing what we'd be in for.
The dress is being exchanged.
We have the $ to repair the car. (Rats are chewing through wires. Ugh. Country living!)
We made it to the doctor.
The internet is (mostly) running.
I'll get more goldfish.
We'll get to that restaurant.
*Dom is still with me.*
The traditional 10 year anniversary gift is tin or aluminum symbolizing resiliency. Maybe I'll start calling Dom my tin man. Only, he does have a heart. And that my friends is what it's all about.

This photo was captioned: Sometimes when you're on your knees pulling weeds near sunset and you look up.