Rest and Re-creation

"Rested, we are ready for the world but not held hostage by it, rested we care again for the right things and the right people in the right way."

~ David Whyte, Consolations

It's been a long three weeks.  Coughing fits that left me exhausted, a tissue box a day head cold, aches, fitful sleeping.  Not the way I'd hoped to spend the holidays.  Not what I wanted, but perhaps, exactly what I needed.

Time to nap, to catch up on taped TV shows and movies, to listen to some favorite music, to read (and reread Consolations) without the usual demands and commitments that the holidays can present.  More important, time to reflect on the past year, a particularly difficult year at that, and to consider possibilities for the coming one, as I have done for the past 34 years.

In the past, I would sit down with pen in hand over a couple days and create an elaborate list of goals, with a detailed action plan of tasks and deadlines and resources.  Elaborate, detailed and even if not totally achieved, enough to keep me focused and feeling somewhat responsible and successful.  In retrospect, however, many of these goals were what I thought I should pursue, what my company or family or obligations required.  What the goal setting books advised.  What I advised others to do.  Responsible and successful, but also too often driven and stressful.  Regretting what I didn't get done as much as taking satisfaction in what I did.

This year, partly due to the debilitating nature of my cold, partly because of my reflections on the past year's challenges and stressors, and partly due to the uncertainty of John's prognosis, I decided to just let go and see what emerged more naturally.  To not be "held hostage" by external goals, by "shoulds" and "ought to's" over which I have little control anyway.  Rather, to commit to broad objectives that felt right for me as well as for the people I love and for my community.  Simple objectives - like spend quality time every day with John, take care of my health at a level equal to the demands of our lives, create something and learn something every day if possible, enjoy - really enjoy - our home and friends, listen to good music, read good literature, commit some time to an organization whose mission I believe in.  And equally important, to remember to rest at a level commensurate with these commitments. Objectives, not goals.  Commitments, not resolutions.  Direction, not destination.

For, whatever 2018 may hold, I aim to deal with it with grace and equanimity, to be content and satisfied with my choices, and to arrive next January with a grateful heart and a healthy body.  

And to all reading this, my best wishes for a happy and healthy new year.

Illegitimi Non Carborundum

It has been almost eleven months since John was diagnosed with Therapy Related MDS, a relatively new and currently incurable cancer of the blood.  Our initial prognosis with six months extended, thanks to a second opinion, to two years.  These months have flown by, but looking back, I am proud of how we have settled into a "new normal" - a daily way of living with this new challenge.  A new normal marked by grace, partnership, support and a quality I've come to recognize as resiliency.

Resiliency - elasticity, malleability, flexibility, plasticity, buoyancy - I've long recognized this in John.  With a history of non-Hodgkins that required the stem cell transplant that is the cause of his current illness, five hernia operations, three bouts of skin cancer, and macular degeneration, one might expect him to rail against the heavens or to just give up or give in. But he endures.  He keeps getting up.  He takes a day at a time and never relinquishes the fight.  He stays remarkably present and positive. He remains optimistic and reminds me that he's not a statistic.  He reminds me, too, that he beat the odds once, and he can do it again. That he can endure until there is a breakthrough that will extend his life with me.

What I haven't recognized is that his resilience has rubbed off on me.  I've thought of myself as tenacious, strong, and determined; and those are not bad qualities. But I like resilient better.  It's more fluid, less easily bent or broken.  Definitely an asset during these tenuous days.

And these days are tenuous.  There are the ordinary breakdowns of everyday life.  The breakdowns we all experience. We lose our TV picture. It's so hot that our potted plants all wither and die.  We keep receiving those calls that our computer is infected or someone can help us with college loans we never took out 50 years ago.  A light on my dashboard lights up for the 4th time, still not fixed after three trips to the dealer. The bombardment of news gets more frightening with each passing hour.  I'm not sleeping well.

What's a resilient soul to do?  Well, work patiently with the disembodied voice in technical support to recover the TV picture and be grateful we got a living breathing soul.  Remove the dead plants and wait till it cools off before replacing.  Stop answering calls from locations we don't recognize.  Take the car to the dealer and tell them the car will be returned if they cannot fix it properly once and for all - they did.  And limit the news, which also cured the sleeping problem.

Then, there are the bigger breakdowns.  The medical assistant that we have come to rely on for information and support suddenly leaves the clinic to move to another city.  A few days later, a dear friend who has been a key member of my personal support system lets me know she is moving, a wise decision for her, another loss for us.  A shot that we have hoped would make transfusions needed less often has had no measurable effect.  

What's a resilient soul to do?  Well, learn to access and interpret John's blood test results on the computer.  (Actually, doing so makes this resilient soul feel just a little proud of herself). Get to know more of the clinic staff. Plan a trip to see our friends after they are settled in, giving us something to look forward to.  Work with our doctor to design changes to John's treatment plan.

This is our new normal.  To take in new information and adjust, as quickly as we can, as patiently and gracefully as we can.  To work with each other and our network of support. To seek solutions rather than rail against the problems.  To focus on what is within our control. A day at a time, some days an hour at a time.

I do like resilient better.  It's more fluid, less easily bent or broken.  Definitely an asset during these tenuous days.  Definitely, a valuable asset for an unknown future.

Rules for an Old Woman Thriving

A good friend called recently to share news of the wonderful celebration her family surprised her with for her 90th birthday.  A well deserved celebration for a life well lived.  For a woman who continues to live enthusiastically. One of my role models.

Our conversation got me questioning how I am living today, whether I live with the same zest I so respect in my friend.   And it sent me back to a remarkable book I have read twice now.  Rules for Old Men Waiting, by Peter Pouncey, is the fictional story of an old historian and recent widower, who realizing that he is dying, compiles 10 rules by which to live his final days with as much dignity and intention as he can. 

Pouncey's old man, MacIver, is living alone in a cabin that has fallen into disarray and disrepair, as he himself has, while in the midst of overwhelming grief.  So his rules, are, of necessity, very basic.  "Keep personally clean.  Make the bed every morning, and clean house twice a week.  Dress warmly and light fire when necessary, burning least important things first.  Eat regularly.  Play music and read.  Work every morning.  Nap in the afternoon if needed."  Eventually he refines his Rules for Winter Watch/Rules for the Inside Game and settles on writing a novel as his last piece of "work."  And the result, a moving novel within a moving novel.

I am not ill, not dying.  But I am now 76, in the midst of the Age of Distinction as Michael Gurian describes this stage of life in The Wonder of Aging. ( I much prefer his term to "the old old" that many gerontologists now employ for my age group.)  I want to live the rest of my life with as much dignity and intention as I can for as long as I can.  If I make it to 90, I would like to be a role model for someone else behind me in the stream.  I want to thrive, not merely survive, with "passion and compassion and humor and style and generosity and kindness."

Therefore, my "rules", for now, a work in progress:

• Learn something every day - how to use the computer more effectively, something about aging, something about another country, current events (within mental health boundaries) - something.
• Simplify our home or life style in some way - reduce, reorganize, recycle, restrain.
• Prepare one vegetarian meal each day - alright, it's one step in the right direction.
• Read good literature every day.
• Spend at least 30 minutes outdoors each day.
• Do something special and enjoyable with John every day and make contact with one friend  - thank heaven for e-mail.
• Move - as in walk.
• Find a way to laugh - laugh out loud.
• Spend at least 30 minutes a day on an activity that requires creative expression - writing, drawing, decorating. 
• My work - to engage in an activity that contributes to someone other than myself - right now, that's this blog (hopefully this contributes to some folks), coaching, and some day, my own book.

Now, I realize in reviewing this list that there are some things here that I already do with great regularity.  I realize that there will be always be days I don't do all of these things, can't do all these things.  There will be naps and movies and lunch with friends and catchup telephone calls.  There will be doctors' visits and emergencies.  There will be other options, others opportunities.  In six months or a year, I may add something, delete something, or expand something.  But for now, this feels appropriate, and doable and satisfying, a structure for thriving.