Just a quick post for a Friday evening. A local kid was killed in a one-car crash last night. These people are part of the Oak Bluffs family, neighbors. My sister's kids grew up with those kids living on the same street.
I can't begin to fathom the agony of losing your child, but I think that anytime a kid dies, the whole world should just stop for a little while.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Sunday, June 7, 2009
beach day one
Well, not actually the whole day, it was closer to 2 hours. I don't think the water is over 55 degrees right now but there went Gracie. She walked right in, bent her knees and was in up to her neck. There were a Dad and son fishing off the rocks at little bridge and they had their tackle box open and Grace goes, "hey can I touch your lures?" "Sure, be careful of the hooks.." "Hey can you cast in that direction, so I don't get hurt on your hooks?" Yeah, they finally just moved down the beach. Its amazing the balls on that kid. Days like today make me so proud of her.
Saturday, June 6, 2009
So that was then...
Two-thousand seven to be exact. Now it 2 years later, and I have gained 20 pounds and lost 2 ovaries. Life is alot different now. I take three different prescriptions. I don't like my job anymore. Things I thought would never happen have happened. I'm able to spend more time with my daughters than I used to. I've stopped missing someone I once thought I would spend the rest of my life with. My search for what it is I believe in spiritually has resulted in the discovery that I believe in people and science and not things I can't see.
It keeps going back to this episode of CSI in which Gil Grissom is sitting in a church pew talking with a priest about religious fanaticism. This is what Grissom said and it hit me, yes! That's how I feel:
"I believe in God, in science ... in Sunday supper. I don't believe in rules that tell me how I should live. Light bulb goes out, other people fix it, get a new one. Light bulb goes out for the Catholic he stands in the dark says, 'What did I do wrong?' That guilt's not in me anymore. ...How many crusades were fought in the name of God? How many people died because of someone's religion?"
I believe in a god if the word "god" is synonymous with the word "love." My god doesn't judge, doesn't punish or hate or condemn. I don't know if I'm an athiest, but you know what? I'm actually not uncomfortable being called one.
It keeps going back to this episode of CSI in which Gil Grissom is sitting in a church pew talking with a priest about religious fanaticism. This is what Grissom said and it hit me, yes! That's how I feel:
"I believe in God, in science ... in Sunday supper. I don't believe in rules that tell me how I should live. Light bulb goes out, other people fix it, get a new one. Light bulb goes out for the Catholic he stands in the dark says, 'What did I do wrong?' That guilt's not in me anymore. ...How many crusades were fought in the name of God? How many people died because of someone's religion?"
I believe in a god if the word "god" is synonymous with the word "love." My god doesn't judge, doesn't punish or hate or condemn. I don't know if I'm an athiest, but you know what? I'm actually not uncomfortable being called one.
Don't forget to read this starting at the bottom
I sit here on Monday the twenty-first of May, and yes, I do realize that I've lost a week here, in these emails-slash-journal entries. Last week was, what I consider, a big mess. The weekend, which was not the one which just passed, but the one before, was the weekend before what was Gaia's 14th birthday, which coincidentally, fell on the 14th. She had spent both days of the weekend with her best friend Oona Post, daughter of the island-famous Dr. Robert Post, Vineyard dentist and renowned (I'm serious) fly-fisherman. He's written books on the subject. Sadly, Oona's Dad died of leukemia when she was still a baby. Cancer really sucks.
But I digress. The plan was, that since it was Gaia's birthday anyway, I would take the day off from work and G would bag school and we'd spend the day together off-island. She'd get to see where I go everyday and do a little shopping. Gaia, however, is not a shopper. Yes, unlike her mother AND maternal grandmother, Gaia does NOT enjoy wandering around aimlessly in that florescent lighting, looking for that perfect garment to just jump off the rack. Go figure. Halfway through the day she was quite literally bored to tears. I'm afraid the whole day was anticlimactic for her, exhausting for her mom.
Tuesday started out bright and sunny, with wind gusts expected up to 50 miles per hour. Great. As predicted, I got a call from the Angel Flight pilot explaining that it was far too windy to fly today. Fortunately, my friends had my back, once again. Denise Alwardt, another kind person I work with, has a spare car, a sunny yellow Jeep Wrangler. She encouraged me last week to look into what the Steamship authority charges to keep a car in their Palmer Avenue lot for medical purposes. "Fifty bucks a month," said Mike, the manager over there." At around 90 dollars per round trip car reservation, this is a bargain, so I took the yellow Jeep on the new boat, Island Home, and drove route 28 to Hyannis. On the way back, I parked the jeep in the lot, paid the 50 bucks to Mike and took the shuttle to Wood's Hole to catch the ferry back home.
Not so fun having to do it again the next day.
Wednesday. The day looked lovely, but my British pilot called me in the morning and explained that (now think British accent), "I can cehtainly get you theh, howevah, thundehstorms are predicted for this ahfternoon, so I'd be unable to fly you home." Crap. I swore alot more this day, every time I'd hit a red light or was stuck behind someone making a left turn. How do people do this everyday?
Thursday. Clouds and sun, but no storms or fog or wind. Thank you God. I flew. I can't even remember who the pilot was who brought me to Hyannis. Ritchie Canastra brought me home.
Friday. The worst. It did everything but snow. Rain, wind, the works. Angel Flight had called me Thursday afternoon to tell me my pilot had canceled already, but they had good news and bad news. The good news was that they were trying to get me on a Cape Air flight. The bad news; no paying customers were booked on the flight from the Vineyard to Hyannis, and Cape Air won't fly without paying passengers on board. I prayed silently, on the front steps of the Mugar Cancer Center, for paying passengers. I was exhausted.
The Great Spirit must have decided I needed a mental health day, because sure enough, there were no airplanes leaving the rain-soaked ground that day. And I was determined. I was NOT driving. After explaining my predicament to the bored person at the other end of the phone line at Cape Cod Hospital, I happily stayed at work until 4:15.
Today is Monday. Today for the first time there was another passenger on board my flight. His name was Jeff and he was headed to Hyannis for a follow-up appointment as he had finished his radiation back in the fall. He has (had?) prostate cancer. He told me he won't know if it's really gone for about 2 years. We talked alot about how important it is to have a positive attitude, and I think it's true for everyone, in any given situation. Jonathan and Joel and I joke about it, reminding one another about " P.M.A" (positive mental attitude) but I believe that whenever something bad happens, or something that seems bad at the time, you have to remember that down the road, something can and will transpire from it that will make you a better person. From darkness comes light, I guess. There is always something to be learned from struggle.
Yes, there is. Which is why I guess I am constantly learning.
But I digress. The plan was, that since it was Gaia's birthday anyway, I would take the day off from work and G would bag school and we'd spend the day together off-island. She'd get to see where I go everyday and do a little shopping. Gaia, however, is not a shopper. Yes, unlike her mother AND maternal grandmother, Gaia does NOT enjoy wandering around aimlessly in that florescent lighting, looking for that perfect garment to just jump off the rack. Go figure. Halfway through the day she was quite literally bored to tears. I'm afraid the whole day was anticlimactic for her, exhausting for her mom.
Tuesday started out bright and sunny, with wind gusts expected up to 50 miles per hour. Great. As predicted, I got a call from the Angel Flight pilot explaining that it was far too windy to fly today. Fortunately, my friends had my back, once again. Denise Alwardt, another kind person I work with, has a spare car, a sunny yellow Jeep Wrangler. She encouraged me last week to look into what the Steamship authority charges to keep a car in their Palmer Avenue lot for medical purposes. "Fifty bucks a month," said Mike, the manager over there." At around 90 dollars per round trip car reservation, this is a bargain, so I took the yellow Jeep on the new boat, Island Home, and drove route 28 to Hyannis. On the way back, I parked the jeep in the lot, paid the 50 bucks to Mike and took the shuttle to Wood's Hole to catch the ferry back home.
Not so fun having to do it again the next day.
Wednesday. The day looked lovely, but my British pilot called me in the morning and explained that (now think British accent), "I can cehtainly get you theh, howevah, thundehstorms are predicted for this ahfternoon, so I'd be unable to fly you home." Crap. I swore alot more this day, every time I'd hit a red light or was stuck behind someone making a left turn. How do people do this everyday?
Thursday. Clouds and sun, but no storms or fog or wind. Thank you God. I flew. I can't even remember who the pilot was who brought me to Hyannis. Ritchie Canastra brought me home.
Friday. The worst. It did everything but snow. Rain, wind, the works. Angel Flight had called me Thursday afternoon to tell me my pilot had canceled already, but they had good news and bad news. The good news was that they were trying to get me on a Cape Air flight. The bad news; no paying customers were booked on the flight from the Vineyard to Hyannis, and Cape Air won't fly without paying passengers on board. I prayed silently, on the front steps of the Mugar Cancer Center, for paying passengers. I was exhausted.
The Great Spirit must have decided I needed a mental health day, because sure enough, there were no airplanes leaving the rain-soaked ground that day. And I was determined. I was NOT driving. After explaining my predicament to the bored person at the other end of the phone line at Cape Cod Hospital, I happily stayed at work until 4:15.
Today is Monday. Today for the first time there was another passenger on board my flight. His name was Jeff and he was headed to Hyannis for a follow-up appointment as he had finished his radiation back in the fall. He has (had?) prostate cancer. He told me he won't know if it's really gone for about 2 years. We talked alot about how important it is to have a positive attitude, and I think it's true for everyone, in any given situation. Jonathan and Joel and I joke about it, reminding one another about " P.M.A" (positive mental attitude) but I believe that whenever something bad happens, or something that seems bad at the time, you have to remember that down the road, something can and will transpire from it that will make you a better person. From darkness comes light, I guess. There is always something to be learned from struggle.
Yes, there is. Which is why I guess I am constantly learning.
Nope, this one is my favorite
I've learned some things over the past couple of weeks. I learned that no matter how well you think you know a person, know their strengths and their weaknesses, you don't know and can't predict how they will react to something unexpected, like say, hypothetically, cancer, for example. I've discovered that I really knew little about the people in my life I consider close to me. The people I would have expected to keep their distance came closer, some I expected to help me find a soft place to fall at the end of a long day, are keeping me at a very stiff arm's length. Before this became my reality, I don't know how I would have reacted, but now I know. Now I know that something as simple as a voicemail can change the outlook on your whole day. Someone touching your arm and saying, "How're you holding up?" That makes you want to hold up the world.
Looking back to last week's blur of activity, I sit here at the computer with my very caffeinated cup of coffee already feeling the effects of either the radiation or the traveling to Hyannis everyday or both. On Friday the 11th, I walked into Martha's Vineyard airport knowing my pilot's name was Richard Canastra. The name sounded familiar...not island familiar, but Fairhaven familiar. I watched a balding guy about my age, with sunglasses and a neatly trimmed beard walk toward General Aviation. He was wearing a Whaling City Cycles t-shirt over his shorts, and I knew then he was a homeboy. He put out his hand and said, "I'm Ritchie." Only a Fairhaven kid would still be calling himself "Ritchie." I asked him, "Whaling City, are you from New Bedford?" "Fairhaven originally, but yeah, I live in New Bedford." I knew it!
In the plane, which was on the bigger side, with four seats in back, I sat up front with Ritchie and put on my headphones which had Steely Dan playing quietly in the background. We chatted constantly all the way to Hyannis, and I learned that he graduated from Fairhaven High in 1979, the year after my brother George. "Of course I know George, he was NUTS back then!" He asked all about my older brother, how many kids he had, how old they were, if he was married. "Tell him mine are 3 and 18 months," he said like a man who was doomed.
The ride seemed to be over in minutes and at Griffin, Ritchie walked me to the building and he said something like, "So Chris, are you going to be okay?" My throat tightened a little and I said, "I don't know how much they tell you, the Angel Flight people." He answered, "They don't tell us anything." I took a deep breath in preparation for my long story short version. "I have breast cancer," I started, "but in a very early stage, and all 22 of my lymph nodes were negative, so I'm going to be fine." I am going to be fine. I don't know if I am reassuring other people with this sentence or reassuring myself.
Inside Griffin Avionics, Ritchie said he'd be sure to sign up for lots more of my flights and when I put out my hand for him to shake it, he grabbed it and pulled me into a big bear hug. As I walked outside to wait for the shuttle bus, I knew I could conquer the universe.
Yeah, this brings it all back. The person pushing me out was, of course, my ex-boyfriend, the ones protecting me were the Cristea boys. Who knew? Not me. I do now though.
Looking back to last week's blur of activity, I sit here at the computer with my very caffeinated cup of coffee already feeling the effects of either the radiation or the traveling to Hyannis everyday or both. On Friday the 11th, I walked into Martha's Vineyard airport knowing my pilot's name was Richard Canastra. The name sounded familiar...not island familiar, but Fairhaven familiar. I watched a balding guy about my age, with sunglasses and a neatly trimmed beard walk toward General Aviation. He was wearing a Whaling City Cycles t-shirt over his shorts, and I knew then he was a homeboy. He put out his hand and said, "I'm Ritchie." Only a Fairhaven kid would still be calling himself "Ritchie." I asked him, "Whaling City, are you from New Bedford?" "Fairhaven originally, but yeah, I live in New Bedford." I knew it!
In the plane, which was on the bigger side, with four seats in back, I sat up front with Ritchie and put on my headphones which had Steely Dan playing quietly in the background. We chatted constantly all the way to Hyannis, and I learned that he graduated from Fairhaven High in 1979, the year after my brother George. "Of course I know George, he was NUTS back then!" He asked all about my older brother, how many kids he had, how old they were, if he was married. "Tell him mine are 3 and 18 months," he said like a man who was doomed.
The ride seemed to be over in minutes and at Griffin, Ritchie walked me to the building and he said something like, "So Chris, are you going to be okay?" My throat tightened a little and I said, "I don't know how much they tell you, the Angel Flight people." He answered, "They don't tell us anything." I took a deep breath in preparation for my long story short version. "I have breast cancer," I started, "but in a very early stage, and all 22 of my lymph nodes were negative, so I'm going to be fine." I am going to be fine. I don't know if I am reassuring other people with this sentence or reassuring myself.
Inside Griffin Avionics, Ritchie said he'd be sure to sign up for lots more of my flights and when I put out my hand for him to shake it, he grabbed it and pulled me into a big bear hug. As I walked outside to wait for the shuttle bus, I knew I could conquer the universe.
Yeah, this brings it all back. The person pushing me out was, of course, my ex-boyfriend, the ones protecting me were the Cristea boys. Who knew? Not me. I do now though.
Okay this is my favorite...
As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I looked out the window at the sky. A misty gray fog hung in the air and I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. Fog and thunderstorms were predicted today, and I knew that last night, so I put in a call to Anita, a sweet lady I worked with for 2 years at the little Upper Main branch. Anita keeps a car off island in the Palmer Avenue lot in Falmouth and this car is my plan B on days when flying is not an option.
She assured me that of course I could use her car, just swing by Upper Main to pick up the keys on the way to the boat. "It's on the left of the lot," she told me, "the only red one on that side. When you find it, just check underneath to make sure there isn't a puddle of oil on the ground. It has a rusty oil pan, but Todd's getting it fixed in a couple of weeks. We drove it a couple weeks ago though, and it was fine." Ugh, so much for plan B. I love Anita, she doesn't have much, but she'd give you the shirt off your back if you needed it. On to plan C. I didn't know what that was yet, which is why I had that knot in my stomach on Thursday morning.
I went to work expecting a call from Angel Flight or the pilot, who's name is Bob today, and when none came by 10 am I called them. Laura told me she would check with Bob and have him call me, and he did about 5 minutes later. "It's clearing up," he assured me, "but rain is expected sometime this afternoon. I have a patient from Nantucket who HAS to be in Boston by 1 o'clock today, so if it's alright, I'll pick you up early, around noontime if that's okay." Of course it was.
Bob is young, I'm guessing in his early 30's with heat-miser fire-red hair and beard. He's chatty, and friendly, and his plane is minuscule. I'm sitting up front today, and he hops in and hands me the headphones so we can talk all the way to Hyannis. I already know at this point that he's married and has a couple of kids who come with him sometimes if it's summer or they have school vacation.
It's cloudy, but the fog has lifted somewhat and there is some blue in the sky. The ride is surprisingly smooth, and Bob explains that it's the clouds that keep the ride smooth because they hold down the heat from the ground that causes the bumps. Huh. We got to the airport in about 15 minutes and I'm early, about 2 hours early. I thank Bob and say goodbye, because the shuttle is waiting for me outside.
When I get to Mugar, I figured I'd see if I could get in early today, and they tell me to go ahead and put a gown on and have a seat, they know I'm here. I picked up People magazine and about 40 minutes later, after doing the entire ridiculously easy crossword puzzle, finally my name was called.
After, I stepped outside to an even clearer sky than this morning, and was starving,and since it was still early, I figured I'd have time to grab a sandwich before I took the shuttle back to Griffin.
( I realize this is getting boring. Be patient, it gets better)
I got back to Griffin at about 3 o'clock and got a phone call from Laura at Angel Flight. Apparently Joe Marino, the pilot scheduled to bring me back this afternoon is having plane trouble, but Bob has volunteered to bring you home. The bad news is, he can't get there until 4:30. I looked up at the sky. The clouds were getting bigger and a lot closer together. I read two entire issues of People magazine (why is that magazine ALWAYS in waiting rooms?) and at around 4:20 I watched Bob's little plane land. He apologized for the time and for needing to refuel, I was just thankful that I'd be able to get home. At around 5pm we finally got in the plane, and I watched about 4 planes take off and quickly disappear into what now had turned back into fog. I was nervous, but Bob reassured me that when you're from New England you get used to flying in these conditions. With the headphones on I could hear air traffic control giving Bob directions. "Seven seven Papa maintain altitude and take a left." Take a left? What kind of radio speak was that? We were above the clouds and fog, and I had to grab my sunglasses out of my bag, and where the Vineyard should have been, was just fluffy, white cotton. Air traffic control was telling Bob to circle around the Vineyard, kind of taking the long way home. I think what was going on was that they were waiting for an opening in the haze. Finally we were approaching the runway, and Bob started to count down the altitude because we were descending, and IN the fog, and NOTHING was visible. Nothing. I kept thinking, we're going to hit a house, or another plane up here. I shut my eyes and took deep breaths and tried to pretend I was on a bus, going downhill, perfectly safe. suddenly, we were going uphill again and I looked at Bob and he was shaking his head saying, "Well, Chris, no runway." What? He must have seen my confusion because he quickly added, "Where I should have seen the runway it was fogged in, so I'm going to try again. But you need to think about what you want to do if I can't land today. We can go back to Hyannis if you want. But don't worry, okay, we have 5 and a half hours of fuel" Okay, if I go to Hyannis, I can get a hotel room and spend the night, and just hang out until my appointment tomorrow. That would mean missing more work time, and wearing dirty clothes. I could go to New Bedford and stay at Aunty Lolly's. Is she even home? Do I have her phone number? How about Falmouth? Is there even an airport in Falmouth? "Hey Bob, how about Falmouth?" "I can get you to Falmouth," he answered. That answers that question.
Again we started descent into the fog. This time Bob said to me, "Do me a favor and keep looking ahead and tell me if you see runway lights." "Sure, Bob, but if I puke in your lap, you have no one to blame but yourself." He smiled and shook his head. I was looking, not seeing anything but grayish-white all around. He was again counting down altitude, I was looking, not seeing, and still looking, and my stomach was getting closer and closer to my throat, and I finally leaned back in my seat and started talking, in my head, to my mother. "Mum, if you can hear me now, I need some help here. Is there anyone up there who could arrange to land this thing, just to make a little hole in the fog, just for half a minute so I can get home?" I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I opened them up to see just the gray-white, but seconds later, the fog opened up and the runway was directly in front of us. Thanks Mom.
Bob was exhilarated. I was exhausted. He was chatting excitedly, he must have been proud of himself, he should be. I heard him say, "...and a pocket opened up at EXACTLY the right time, it was incredible."
I thanked Bob for keeping me alive and walked across the parking lot to my car, praying, thanking God, and Mom.
Ugh, that day was incredible! I remember having to sit in my car for about 10 minutes waiting for my heart to stop pounding in my ears. I have to admit, I had a little crush on Bob after that day, like one of those super-hero crushes, like after you watch the Spiderman movies and you wish for a minute that you were Mary Jane Watson.
She assured me that of course I could use her car, just swing by Upper Main to pick up the keys on the way to the boat. "It's on the left of the lot," she told me, "the only red one on that side. When you find it, just check underneath to make sure there isn't a puddle of oil on the ground. It has a rusty oil pan, but Todd's getting it fixed in a couple of weeks. We drove it a couple weeks ago though, and it was fine." Ugh, so much for plan B. I love Anita, she doesn't have much, but she'd give you the shirt off your back if you needed it. On to plan C. I didn't know what that was yet, which is why I had that knot in my stomach on Thursday morning.
I went to work expecting a call from Angel Flight or the pilot, who's name is Bob today, and when none came by 10 am I called them. Laura told me she would check with Bob and have him call me, and he did about 5 minutes later. "It's clearing up," he assured me, "but rain is expected sometime this afternoon. I have a patient from Nantucket who HAS to be in Boston by 1 o'clock today, so if it's alright, I'll pick you up early, around noontime if that's okay." Of course it was.
Bob is young, I'm guessing in his early 30's with heat-miser fire-red hair and beard. He's chatty, and friendly, and his plane is minuscule. I'm sitting up front today, and he hops in and hands me the headphones so we can talk all the way to Hyannis. I already know at this point that he's married and has a couple of kids who come with him sometimes if it's summer or they have school vacation.
It's cloudy, but the fog has lifted somewhat and there is some blue in the sky. The ride is surprisingly smooth, and Bob explains that it's the clouds that keep the ride smooth because they hold down the heat from the ground that causes the bumps. Huh. We got to the airport in about 15 minutes and I'm early, about 2 hours early. I thank Bob and say goodbye, because the shuttle is waiting for me outside.
When I get to Mugar, I figured I'd see if I could get in early today, and they tell me to go ahead and put a gown on and have a seat, they know I'm here. I picked up People magazine and about 40 minutes later, after doing the entire ridiculously easy crossword puzzle, finally my name was called.
After, I stepped outside to an even clearer sky than this morning, and was starving,and since it was still early, I figured I'd have time to grab a sandwich before I took the shuttle back to Griffin.
( I realize this is getting boring. Be patient, it gets better)
I got back to Griffin at about 3 o'clock and got a phone call from Laura at Angel Flight. Apparently Joe Marino, the pilot scheduled to bring me back this afternoon is having plane trouble, but Bob has volunteered to bring you home. The bad news is, he can't get there until 4:30. I looked up at the sky. The clouds were getting bigger and a lot closer together. I read two entire issues of People magazine (why is that magazine ALWAYS in waiting rooms?) and at around 4:20 I watched Bob's little plane land. He apologized for the time and for needing to refuel, I was just thankful that I'd be able to get home. At around 5pm we finally got in the plane, and I watched about 4 planes take off and quickly disappear into what now had turned back into fog. I was nervous, but Bob reassured me that when you're from New England you get used to flying in these conditions. With the headphones on I could hear air traffic control giving Bob directions. "Seven seven Papa maintain altitude and take a left." Take a left? What kind of radio speak was that? We were above the clouds and fog, and I had to grab my sunglasses out of my bag, and where the Vineyard should have been, was just fluffy, white cotton. Air traffic control was telling Bob to circle around the Vineyard, kind of taking the long way home. I think what was going on was that they were waiting for an opening in the haze. Finally we were approaching the runway, and Bob started to count down the altitude because we were descending, and IN the fog, and NOTHING was visible. Nothing. I kept thinking, we're going to hit a house, or another plane up here. I shut my eyes and took deep breaths and tried to pretend I was on a bus, going downhill, perfectly safe. suddenly, we were going uphill again and I looked at Bob and he was shaking his head saying, "Well, Chris, no runway." What? He must have seen my confusion because he quickly added, "Where I should have seen the runway it was fogged in, so I'm going to try again. But you need to think about what you want to do if I can't land today. We can go back to Hyannis if you want. But don't worry, okay, we have 5 and a half hours of fuel" Okay, if I go to Hyannis, I can get a hotel room and spend the night, and just hang out until my appointment tomorrow. That would mean missing more work time, and wearing dirty clothes. I could go to New Bedford and stay at Aunty Lolly's. Is she even home? Do I have her phone number? How about Falmouth? Is there even an airport in Falmouth? "Hey Bob, how about Falmouth?" "I can get you to Falmouth," he answered. That answers that question.
Again we started descent into the fog. This time Bob said to me, "Do me a favor and keep looking ahead and tell me if you see runway lights." "Sure, Bob, but if I puke in your lap, you have no one to blame but yourself." He smiled and shook his head. I was looking, not seeing anything but grayish-white all around. He was again counting down altitude, I was looking, not seeing, and still looking, and my stomach was getting closer and closer to my throat, and I finally leaned back in my seat and started talking, in my head, to my mother. "Mum, if you can hear me now, I need some help here. Is there anyone up there who could arrange to land this thing, just to make a little hole in the fog, just for half a minute so I can get home?" I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. I opened them up to see just the gray-white, but seconds later, the fog opened up and the runway was directly in front of us. Thanks Mom.
Bob was exhilarated. I was exhausted. He was chatting excitedly, he must have been proud of himself, he should be. I heard him say, "...and a pocket opened up at EXACTLY the right time, it was incredible."
I thanked Bob for keeping me alive and walked across the parking lot to my car, praying, thanking God, and Mom.
Ugh, that day was incredible! I remember having to sit in my car for about 10 minutes waiting for my heart to stop pounding in my ears. I have to admit, I had a little crush on Bob after that day, like one of those super-hero crushes, like after you watch the Spiderman movies and you wish for a minute that you were Mary Jane Watson.
radiation: day two
Today is Wednesday, and it feels like the first day of summer, with temperatures hovering around 70 degrees and the sky as blue as yesterday, and just a bit of mist hanging over Edgartown. Any concern I had about that disappeared when I saw Jerry Plante's plane at the MV Airport. It was bigger than yesterday's. I watched a guy with tousled salt and pepper hair and a moustache walk toward General Aviation and I recognized the "Angel Flight" ID badge that hung around his neck. He found me.
I climbed aboard and found 4 seats in the back. Jerry told me to "take your pick," so I chose the side opposite the pilot, facing forward. He offered me a set of headphones to listen to air traffic control, but I remembered my MP3 player today, so I turned him down. As we started to taxi down the runway, Green Day's "Welcome to Paradise" was blaring in my ears, and the wheels left the ground. I think I loaded this song by mistake, but some of the lyrics were fitting, like "This sudden fear has left me trembling, 'cause now it seems that I am out here on my own, and I'm feeling so alone..." Because no matter how many card and phone calls of support I get, sometimes when my day is over and I'm getting into bed it dawns on me that this war is just me vs. cancer. The good news is, this cancer ain't no Iraq, so I'm kicking it's sorry ass.
We landed in Hyannis (actually Barnstable) and Jerry intended to wait for me there and bring me right back. Creepy shuttle driver Dave was waiting for me. He didn't talk much. Today was my first actual radiation treatment, so I was told that from today on, I walk right in, pick a dressing room stocked with fashionable hospital gowns, put one on and take a seat with all the other people with cancer, all of whom, I am noticing, are way older than me. My name was called fairly soon and I followed a nurse(?) to the table I lay on with my arm up over my head. There is a panel on the ceiling in there that is supposed to look like a skylight, with tree branches against a blue sky. The gown is pulled down, exposing my scarred mis-shapen boob (of course) and about 3 or 4 women are measuring, adjusting, admiring my shoes (from skechers), and chatting away and this puts me at ease. After some buzzing and whirring it is over, and I am dressed and standing out in front of the Mugar Cancer Center waiting for the shuttle back to Griffin. One down, 29 to go.
As Jerry and I land on the Vineyard, I check the time. It is 3:55. Less than 2 hours ago, we were taking off. I picked up Gaia and we went to Reliable Market and when I was coming out, I saw Will, riding down Kennebec Ave.on his Harley, his long gray beard blowing in the breeze. He yelled, 'Hey Chris!" and was smiling and waving at me. What a way to celebrate.
Its great reading these again. I had forgotten seeing Will that day and how it made me feel.
I climbed aboard and found 4 seats in the back. Jerry told me to "take your pick," so I chose the side opposite the pilot, facing forward. He offered me a set of headphones to listen to air traffic control, but I remembered my MP3 player today, so I turned him down. As we started to taxi down the runway, Green Day's "Welcome to Paradise" was blaring in my ears, and the wheels left the ground. I think I loaded this song by mistake, but some of the lyrics were fitting, like "This sudden fear has left me trembling, 'cause now it seems that I am out here on my own, and I'm feeling so alone..." Because no matter how many card and phone calls of support I get, sometimes when my day is over and I'm getting into bed it dawns on me that this war is just me vs. cancer. The good news is, this cancer ain't no Iraq, so I'm kicking it's sorry ass.
We landed in Hyannis (actually Barnstable) and Jerry intended to wait for me there and bring me right back. Creepy shuttle driver Dave was waiting for me. He didn't talk much. Today was my first actual radiation treatment, so I was told that from today on, I walk right in, pick a dressing room stocked with fashionable hospital gowns, put one on and take a seat with all the other people with cancer, all of whom, I am noticing, are way older than me. My name was called fairly soon and I followed a nurse(?) to the table I lay on with my arm up over my head. There is a panel on the ceiling in there that is supposed to look like a skylight, with tree branches against a blue sky. The gown is pulled down, exposing my scarred mis-shapen boob (of course) and about 3 or 4 women are measuring, adjusting, admiring my shoes (from skechers), and chatting away and this puts me at ease. After some buzzing and whirring it is over, and I am dressed and standing out in front of the Mugar Cancer Center waiting for the shuttle back to Griffin. One down, 29 to go.
As Jerry and I land on the Vineyard, I check the time. It is 3:55. Less than 2 hours ago, we were taking off. I picked up Gaia and we went to Reliable Market and when I was coming out, I saw Will, riding down Kennebec Ave.on his Harley, his long gray beard blowing in the breeze. He yelled, 'Hey Chris!" and was smiling and waving at me. What a way to celebrate.
Its great reading these again. I had forgotten seeing Will that day and how it made me feel.
So this was day one...
So today was the day I started taking the little winged mini-vans over to Hyannis and back for my 30 radiation treatments. My pilot today was Albert Meserve, and his wife Edna sat up front in the little cockpit with him. We took off at 1:00. It was (and is still) a beautiful day, a little windy, with a crystal-clear sky and just a few puffy clouds. The sight of the Vineyard humbled me a bit, seeing the whole thing all at once; the ponds, the state forest, the farms, the harbors, the lighthouses, even Goodale's pit. It all reminded me, and I need reminding, of why I love this place, my home.
Albert and Edna were really cute, and reminded me of a couple my parents would have had as friends, Albert in his Nantucket shorts and polo shirt, and Edna, who looked alot like Mary Foran. (A true friend to Mom) I caught them more than once smiling at each other, he'd lean over to bump her with his shoulder. A couple of times on the way over, Albert knocked me on the leg to get my attention so he could show me Wood's Hole, then Falmouth harbor.
After a rough landing, (during which I made a mental note to myself to call Dr. Nieder to get some Valium) I met Perry, a big, round, jolly guy who works at the airport at Griffin Avionics. We chatted for awhile about the high cancer stats on both of the islands while I waited for the shuttle to the hospital. Albert and Edna walked across the street for lunch at Not Your Average Joe's.
Diane drove the shuttle and we made some small talk during the short ride to the Cancer Center at Cape Cod Hospital. When I arrived, I had 5 minutes to read a trashy magazine article about Jennifer Aniston's rhinoplasty, then was lead to a dressing room to strip down, "waist-up" and put on a hospital jonny. I was told I was not getting any radiation today, just having pictures taken. This took all of 15 minutes, and I was dressed and out. While I waited for the shuttle I listened to a voicemail from Jonathan, wishing me well today. (I know this is not easy for him, leaving a mushy nice voicemail, which makes it all the more special to me) Diane picked me up and during the ride back, I learned she also has a 13 year old daughter who weighs 180 pounds. Whoa. Gaia times two.
I had to wait at Griffin for about 30 minutes, praying Albert wasn't having a 2nd beer. I got a bag of pretzels out of the machine there and picked up a People magazine to read an article written by a guy with an autistic son. It was interesting and I again thanked God that Gracie is so smart, and so loving and so funny. Way more interactive than the kid in the article.
When the Meserves strolled in I also got to see Will Lewis arriving with his pilot. ('Will is Lindsay's dad) Today was his final treatment. It was a relief to see him, smiling and looking healthy even after so many treatments. He's quite a guy.
The flight back seemed to be more over water than land, with the Meserves sneaking glances at each other, and laughing at their private jokes, while I gripped my seat and sweated bullets in the back. I was back on land at 3:45.
yup that was day one...not the best writing, I promise it gets better.
Albert and Edna were really cute, and reminded me of a couple my parents would have had as friends, Albert in his Nantucket shorts and polo shirt, and Edna, who looked alot like Mary Foran. (A true friend to Mom) I caught them more than once smiling at each other, he'd lean over to bump her with his shoulder. A couple of times on the way over, Albert knocked me on the leg to get my attention so he could show me Wood's Hole, then Falmouth harbor.
After a rough landing, (during which I made a mental note to myself to call Dr. Nieder to get some Valium) I met Perry, a big, round, jolly guy who works at the airport at Griffin Avionics. We chatted for awhile about the high cancer stats on both of the islands while I waited for the shuttle to the hospital. Albert and Edna walked across the street for lunch at Not Your Average Joe's.
Diane drove the shuttle and we made some small talk during the short ride to the Cancer Center at Cape Cod Hospital. When I arrived, I had 5 minutes to read a trashy magazine article about Jennifer Aniston's rhinoplasty, then was lead to a dressing room to strip down, "waist-up" and put on a hospital jonny. I was told I was not getting any radiation today, just having pictures taken. This took all of 15 minutes, and I was dressed and out. While I waited for the shuttle I listened to a voicemail from Jonathan, wishing me well today. (I know this is not easy for him, leaving a mushy nice voicemail, which makes it all the more special to me) Diane picked me up and during the ride back, I learned she also has a 13 year old daughter who weighs 180 pounds. Whoa. Gaia times two.
I had to wait at Griffin for about 30 minutes, praying Albert wasn't having a 2nd beer. I got a bag of pretzels out of the machine there and picked up a People magazine to read an article written by a guy with an autistic son. It was interesting and I again thanked God that Gracie is so smart, and so loving and so funny. Way more interactive than the kid in the article.
When the Meserves strolled in I also got to see Will Lewis arriving with his pilot. ('Will is Lindsay's dad) Today was his final treatment. It was a relief to see him, smiling and looking healthy even after so many treatments. He's quite a guy.
The flight back seemed to be more over water than land, with the Meserves sneaking glances at each other, and laughing at their private jokes, while I gripped my seat and sweated bullets in the back. I was back on land at 3:45.
yup that was day one...not the best writing, I promise it gets better.
in the beginning...
I'm using the trebuchet font, because for one, I like the trebuchet, it reminds me of the episode of Northern Exposure in which Chris-in-the-morning builds one and decides to fling a cow with it, and when he hears that it has already been done (in that Monty Python movie) he changes his mind and flings Maggie's piano, which was all but destroyed in the fire that her mother started that burned her house down. And two, I just like to say trebuchet. Whew.
I'm going to post a couple of emails I wrote a couple years ago, back when I was flying off island everyday with Angel Flights for radiation treatment for breast cancer. Not that they're necessarily relevant, I just like them, I'm kind of proud of them. I think a lot of creativity came to the surface back then, and seems to have disappeared since. Anyway, bear with me, like Sledge on the edge, I'm a blogging virgin as well so all my intentions may be squashed like a, like a, I don't know, like a rotten tomato or something else squashable.
I'm going to post a couple of emails I wrote a couple years ago, back when I was flying off island everyday with Angel Flights for radiation treatment for breast cancer. Not that they're necessarily relevant, I just like them, I'm kind of proud of them. I think a lot of creativity came to the surface back then, and seems to have disappeared since. Anyway, bear with me, like Sledge on the edge, I'm a blogging virgin as well so all my intentions may be squashed like a, like a, I don't know, like a rotten tomato or something else squashable.
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