B, G and J Day: Photos!

What better day to fill a post with photos than Day 5 of a chemo round?

Here we have a mouse from the Ark and the Lion Who Did Not Eat Daniel Because the Angel of the Lord Closed His Mouth. This dressing-up was for Bible Character night at AWANA last weekend.






And here we have some pics from our trip to the Pumpkin Patch last Friday, whence Col. Putko told Bryan not to come into work. (I love that guy!)



Taken while on our tractor ride:

Joshua, preparing to be the next tractor driver:

By the sad and lonely sheep and goats. We had planned to go to Wishing Star Farm, which is the Real Deal, but because of the snowy weather in the Black Forest, the road to that farm was impassible. . . In the middle of October. . . So we opted for a pretend-farm, e.g. the "pumpkin patch"--and next year, if we make it to Wishing Star Farm, the kids will feel as though we've traded up.

Ah, the hay slides! Kids loved them! I think Bryan kind of did, too.

A Look Inside

Time for some girl talk.

But this is also for you men, because it will provide a window into the American, middle-class female psyche that might well change your world.

What I'm about to post is not just an Amy! thing. I'm pretty sure a vast number of women in my demographic, at least, would find a lot in common with what I'm about to reveal.

Interested yet? Here goes:

I think women go through various stages of relating to their own looks. And I'm not just talking about bodies, but the whole package. The person she sees in the mirror, both dressed and un-dressed, hair done and un-done.

It's not just the past few months that have precipitated my thinking about this. I've always found it to be a really interesting topic because I notice that men don't really have stages like these.

For instance, when I taught college Composition, I'd always ask a Question of the Day as the students filed into the room each morning. A little something to get them talking, get them thinking. One day I said, "You do not have to answer this question. You are free to refuse to answer. I refuse to answer it myself. The question is this: How much do you weigh?"

And, as I had predicted would happen, the guys all answered--without hesitation!--and the women did not. Until the last one walked in--she was usually almost late--a tall, thin, very pretty party girl type. I posed the question to her as written above and she said, "110, baby!" and kissed her fingers before slapping her own butt.

So there was one exception.

My point being that I'm not writing out of a one-breasted obsession. I've been obsessed with the subject for a long time.

The stages, I think, are these--though maybe there are more, but there are at least these:

1. Pre-22 stage. The teens-into-college-freshman 15 concerned-who am I?-stage. Let's not even talk about this stage. It is what it is. It was what it was.

2. Then we kind of become adults. In our 20's. Our worlds get bigger. Our responsibilities get more serious. Some of us get spouses, or at least a pet--something to take us outside of ourselves. We get real jobs, and get to know real people who are living real lives--a lot of times, lives much harder than anything we'd ever known.

And the men around us kind of start to grow up, too. They start to realize that looks only count for so much, and they start to pay attention to to qualities like, say, personality and intelligence. And then, interestingly, those of us who always had lots of personality and intelligence, see our stock rise.

But all the while, the voice within that's looking at the woman in the mirror is not saying, "Damn, you're gorgeous." It's saying, in the words of Springsteen, "You ain't a beauty, but, hey, you're all right."-- and it was all right, because you see that life is about so much more than how you look. Your life. Other's lives. The person you fall in love with. The marriage you build. All these massively important and wonderful things find the question of physical beauty to be largely irrelevant.

Meanwhile, that husband who loves you is continually mystified that all the lovely comments he gives you don't seem to count for very much. Why isn't his voice louder than the one in your head? I guess it's because you figure he has to say those things. Or that a big part of the reason he says them is that he's simply blinded by love. . .

3. The next stage happened for me in the mid-20's. I found myself hiking with friends. And coaching a 7/8th grade boys basketball team and, because our numbers were so few, actually playing on the court with them and running lines against them.

Gemma came along after this and with all the physical activity of these few years came a new realization: A body is not just about form. In fact, it's a lot more about function. You get to this point and suddenly the size of your jeans doesn't matter nearly as much as whether you can play outside with your kids all afternoon and still have the energy to cook dinner.

Then you, I don't know, break your ankle, or something, and experience several weeks with dramatically reduced function and you promise yourself, "I will appreciate my health from now on!" and you tell that voice in your head, that is still not thrilled with how you look, that it just needs to shut up because you happen to be enjoying your life a lot.

3. Thrown in there, I think, I hope for most of us, at some point, is the place where you stop counting calories and playing that game with the scale--you know, the one where the scale tells you whether you're going to have a happy day or a bummer day--and instead really tune into your body and discover what food makes it work well, what foods makes you feel crummy, when you are filled up, when you should eat something.

For me, this really happened with the sugar allergy thing almost 3 years ago. And I am so thankful for it.

4. And then, the next stage. The one I just reached 3 days ago. Here I am, at a place of pretty grim physical decimation. The body, the hair, the loss of eyebrows and eyelashes, the palid skin, the reduced muscle tone all over. I'm a real mess at the moment.

I brought some negatives in to be developed. Do you remember negatives?

I had to use them to make baby photos from Josh's birth, back before my mother went digital. And, to boot, I had to develop one of those instant cameras from my trip to Hawaii to see Parin, back in November of 07. (Isn't that pathetic, Parin??? Finally!!)

I got the photos back. There I was. In Hawaii. A "recent" picture in that it's what I looked like just before the diagnosis--hadn't changed that much in 1 1/2 years. And I saw this woman in the photo and thought, "Wow! I am so pretty!!"

In my normal state. The state I'll be getting back to in a few months. . .

Bryan looked at me like I was just. . .crazy. Has he not been telling me this for about 12 years? But that little voice just wouldn't believe it. Until 3 days ago, when I saw it in contrast to what I'm living with now.

So. I think this all totals up to a solid piece of advice, for those of you who would also like to get to this 4th stage:
a) Take a photo of yourself.
b) Get an illness that will leave you temporarily disaster-ized.
c) In the midst of your low point, look at that photo.

Then you, too, will appreciate the great height of your own beauty. And when you get better, that little voice will be gone and you will be free to enjoy yourself just as God's made you.

And this will probably be a very nice relief for the man in your life as well. . . .

Round 5, Day 2

Chemo yesterday went well. I really enjoyed my appointment with Dr. Markus. I haven't commented much on how we appreciate him. He's a very compassionate person who seems to have all the time in the world to chat throughout the appointment.

Yesterday, he walked in and I put down my crochet project. He remarked that he'd learned to knit when he was a child, but never got into crochet. This lead to other handiwork discussion and he disclosed, "Embarrassingly, I'm the one who sews in the house. When the kids need something fixed, they know to come to me."

I said, "That's not embarrassing!" and told him the story of a Navy birthday ball Bryan were at. We sat next to a SEAL and his wife and Bryan got to chatting with her about his Fall pie baking, how he'd just finished the pumpkin and was about to start on the apples.

She told us, "This macho husband of mine brought a mum plant home from Home Depot yesterday and swore me to secrecy because he felt like a sissy and here your husband is bragging about his pie baking!"

And the SEAL said, "I told you not to tell anyone!"

So, then, Dr. Science. Yes, I like him a lot. He asked about our plans after Bryan's retirement and Bryan mentioned that the plan had been to head to MO, but now we were looking to stay here. Immediately, Markus said, "Will you be near St. Louis? I have a colleague with a terrific practice there. Do you want me to look into where you could go in Kansas City?"--and he was genuinely concerned. Said it was "so sad" to have to see people change life plans because of medical issues.

I said, "Nope! I'm happy to stay here!"

And Bryan is definitely getting happy about it, too. . .

I asked, again, about his family history, and he's just not on it. I told him, "You know, Dr. Markus. Your parents are going to die one day and then there will be no one to ask."

He said his mother has put it all on 4 CD's and counting. So I guess he doesn't need to ask now. And I guess the rest of us will never know.

Chemo got started an hour late. I never know why there is a delay. . . But it all went well. I feel OK. Everything it is yet again a little worse this time--more stomach cramping, more fatigue.

But what's different is that this feels like the last 'real' round. Sister #3 will be here for Round 6, and that will make a big difference. Plus, with Round 6, as bad as I may feel, I'll know that it's the last time I'm feeling that bad! So Round 5 therefore feels like the last regular round.

Went out with 2 friends this morning and had a great time. We first dropped the kids off at Betsy's and even Amber, the friend, noted, "They settle right in, don't they?"

Yes. As though they own the joint.

And Josh is pretty thoroughly potty trained! Goes number 1 AND 2 out in public, which is kind of my standard for determining the level of thoroughness. . .

Ate feta cheese the other day to no ill effect! Ate a piece of Swiss cheese yesterday to no ill effect! Had two small pieces of brie today on my salad at lunch and might be a little off from that. But I am hopeful! Perhaps cheese can be a part of my life after all!

Very good news, because I would very much like Sister #3 to make Gramma's Stuffed Shells for us when she's here. . . .

Sparks!

I am writing this on Sunday night, to be posted on Monday morning. I won't blog live from the chemo barn this time because I'd rather spend the time crocheting, reading and talking with Bryan.

But I'll take copious mental notes and if anything really interesting happens, I'll be sure to report it to you on Tuesday.

For now, let me tell you about my Sunday afternoon:

I went to AWANA today! I signed up to be a leader for Sparks, the K-2nd grade level that Gemma started this year, and completed the training for it. But because of my treatment schedule, I knew I'd have unreliable attendance this semester at least, so I wasn't actually slated into a position.

It had been my intention to avoid AWANA on the Sunday after chemo and Sunday right before a round because of germ issues. But one each one of those middle Sundays, I've always felt so crummy and/or sick!

So, even though tomorrow is a chemo round, I went anyway.

For those who don't know, AWANA stands for "All Workmen Are Not Ashamed"--from a verse in 1 Timothy that talks about knowing the Word of God well so that when various moments arrive, you'll have the answer you need.

This is a Bible memory club/organization. Kids wear a uniform vest for each level, and as they memorize Bible verses, they earn patches and gems to put on those vests. The meetings are filled with games and story time and the year is filled with extra fun like skate parties, grand prix rallies and dress-up nights. (Tonight was Bible Character night and Gemma was a mouse. You know. From either the 6th day of creation or Noah's Ark, take your pick. . . .)

Gemma loves it. So does Josh, who is a Puggle. (Did you know that a puggle is a baby platypus?) He doesn't have verses to memorize, but they have a curriculum in his room, too.

As for me? I was so glad to finally get to a meeting! I went with the plan of just hanging around and looking for ways to be useful. I'd told the Sparks leader ahead of time that I couldn't be in one of the small classrooms with the kids because of germs, but that I could stay in either the big story room or big game room.

And lo! In the story room, they started singing "This Little Light of Mine," with no one to lead the dance motions. So I ran to the front and did them. (This is a big deal for kids: to have motions to go with their songs.) And then I made up motions to go with the other songs we sang.

Sparks also do a little mini-cheer for each award that is announced. I got to lead that cheer, too! And I turned off the lights for the candle-in-the-pumpkin object lesson, and I passed out the pumpkin cookies. . . All of this 3 times over because all the Sparkies rotate through as 3 groups.

What fun.

Parin once told me, as she watched me facilitate a pinata-busting, "You missed your calling! You should have been a cruise director!" Sometimes I think she's right. I just love leading folks in the fun stuff.

But what was best of all was actually being a helpful, useful person. It's not that I was a spectacular servant before chemo began, and that I got knocked off my game by it. But since the surgery on 23 June, I have been on the receiving end of help, and there haven't been too many opportunities to be the helper that I could actually rise to.

Being a helper today just felt terrific. Being with all the other AWANA leaders and children was terrific, too. Our church is a real family to us, and being part of the Body in this meaningful way was good medicine.

PS: Happy Anniversary, Sister #2 and Brother-in-law #1!

Sunday Storytime: The Korean Locker Room

The following is a story from the Vault. MLQ's comment about being a in locker room got me to thinking about the locker room at the club on Post. Parin and I would go often, on our own and with our girls. We'd swim with them, hit the hot tub with them, then get dressed and go to lunch, all without stepping outside, which made it the perfect winter morning activity.

But there were always many Korean women at the club, which also made it an interesting morning activity. . .

Here’s how Americans operate: You work out. You go to the locker room. Go into the showers dressed. Deposit your clothes on the chair outside your shower curtain. Shower up. Towel-up. Return to your locker. Get dressed. It’s a 7-minute evolution, carried through with an expedient sense of modesty.

The Korean version: Work out. Go to locker room. Undress. Bandy about, naked, collecting various shower articles. Stop to talk to random woman standing next to you. Mosey into shower. Stop by whirlpool spa and talk to ladies sitting in tub.

Shower up. Towel up hair. Drip the rest dry. Take out lotion and moisturize your entire body in front of a wall of mirrors. Amble to and fro among towel stacks, but do not to take one to cover yourself even though the sign clearly states: Please wear bathing suit or suitable alternative when lounging in locker room and spa.

Ladies, tell me, does the Hongul translation beneath this sign read, "If you got it, flaunt it"?

It’s not that I object to naked. I’ve given birth. If I ever had a problem with naked, I’m over it now. Nothing wrong with naked. It’s just that there is a time and place for naked. And 25-30 minutes of post-work-out naked preening is just. . .too much naked.

Stacks of clean, fluffy towels stand in abundance, waiting for use. These women are all thin enough to fit inside one towel with plenty of room for tucking in. So ladies, come on. I mean, what’s with the naked?

Eventually, they do get dressed. They do their hair quite elaborately. They apply a full swath of make-up. And the whole time, they are speaking in Korean, commenting now and again, I presume, that the Americans in the room with them are slobs, and if they could just spend a bit more time on themselves before getting on with their day. . .

Except when Gemma is in the locker room with them. Then they talk about her. At the end of our swim, I take her suit and diaper off, wrap her in a towel and sit her on the bench while I (expediently) get dressed.

The other day, she was waiting for me when a locker door slammed behind her and she jerked her head to the noise. Immediately, she furrowed her brow, slowly re-cocked her head and then jerked it again. This made her smile a bit. Then she did it again and started laughing. Then again. Each time, she made her wet piggy tales slap her face and spray a bit of water. What fun!

The Korean women crowded around her, as always, gently pinching her soft, juicy limbs, wrapping their fingers in her curly locks, cooing, "She's so keewwwt! So keewwwt!! Laughing at her head-jerking trick.

Gemma finally stopped her trick and looked back at them, relaxed. She wasn’t smiling anymore. She was instead asking, with that look in her eyes, "Why are all of you naked?"