is there any more pie?

Believe it or not, my life now centers around the pool at the local YMCA.  Yes, you read that correctly.  Barbara and I have staggered across the YMCA parking lot many times this month to try out the different water aerobics classes offered each weekday morning.  Or we’ve slept a little later, gone to the “free swim” time and walked or jogged at our own pace.

We’ve just finished up our fourth week and we are still learning how this whole thing works.  Today was our first low-intensity class designed for those suffering from arthritis.  No music or jogging, but lots of stretching and swimming.

I tried “Bob”‘s popular dance class (in the water!) at 8 AM Monday morning.  It was wild and fun–imagine 20 senior ladies singing along to the Beatles “I Saw Her Standing There”–but I’m sure I overdid it.  Those early classes with energetic Bob will have to wait for a while.

We’ve done jumping jacks with “Kathy” and jogging with “April” (lovely, enthusiastic ladies).  And we’ve really enjoyed our private “walking in the water” time where we get to chat non-stop until an hour goes by and we realize we’re freezing and exhausted.

By the time I’m home, showered and have wolfed down an early lunch, it’s time for a nap.  And let me tell you, I have the best naps in the history of Napdom.  I don’t move again until dinnertime–which means heating up a bowl of soup–and then I’m on the couch with Banjo Man for the evening.

We call that February.

I’m hoping to be accepted into the LIVESTRONG program for cancer survivors next week.  It’s a 12-week program to develop strength and stamina, which means eight of us will be in a gym twice a week with our very own personal trainers.

Wish me luck.

Banjo Man is home after his mini-break in Nebraska.  He flew home a day early due to fears of a big snowstorm in Chicago, so he was happy to be safely back in his office again.  All was right with the world.  I made a big pot of cauliflower-leek soup and a big pot of butternut squash (with white beans and apples) to welcome him home.

I accomplished very little in the days he was away.  I had a list of optimistic good intentions and projects, but reality intruded.  The quilt remained without borders.  The pantry stayed jammed with “stuff”.  The violin stayed silently tucked in its case.   In my defense, I went to the Y to swim twice, helped my mother one long afternoon and actually drove to Walmart at 8:00 Sunday morning to buy five things (it was my own personal test, having not done that since April, and it went well).

But I did clean out the upstairs bathroom closet.  It took four days (an hour each morning) but here it is:

BEFORE:

AFTER:

I didn’t do a complete purge of unwanted things, but I got rid of enough stuff to make things more organized and accessible.

Small steps.

Just in case you’re under the mistaken impression that I am calm and brave in the midst of all this cancer crap, I’m going to tell you about yesterday.

Angela had texted me on Thursday that she would hound the pathologist and have results for me on Friday.  I did not share info that with Banjo Man.  I didn’t think he needed to have the stress of waiting for the phone to ring all day Friday.  We were both calm and resigned and not just a little numb.  As of Monday, there was an unspoken agreement to go avoid “what if” and instead just carry on as usual.  And he was doing a really good job of staying calm.

Friday morning I was up at 7 and carried my phone with me from the coffee pot to the computer to the bathroom to the laundry room, etc.  In an attempt to find some encouragement about a “recurrence”, I went on the breast cancer website and visited the forums there.  Instead of comfort, I learned that 80% of these “architectural” abnormalities are malignant.  They come in third as a way of identifying breast cancer.

I was stunned.  I had had no clue.  I shed a few tears and started to think about the summer.  My last summer?  Maybe.  We would drive to Idaho, then.  Our last road trip?  Probably.  Maybe we could meet the Funny Grandson and his parents in Yellowstone, as they were going to be on their own road trip.  We could buy a Toyota 4 Runner here to replace the very ancient one we used for driving up to the cabin in the mountains.  And fly home late September, if I lasted that long.

I was in full-blown panic.

I cried and shopped online for used 4 Runners for an hour and found a good possibility in Massachusetts.  I bookmarked it to show Banjo Man after we got the news of my impending death.  Because if there was cancer it was going to be a different, fast-growing kind and that would be very, very bad.

It was time to put the clothes in the dryer and do my 25 minutes on the treadmill, so I cleaned myself up and went downstairs.  I didn’t tell Banjo Man about the percentages but I did get wound up about a road trip and a car and maybe it would be the last summer and all the “what ifs” we’d been avoiding. I cried.

My poor husband just stood there eating his oatmeal. “Can we just hold off on all of this until we get the test results?”

I sucked up the tears and went into the exercise room to get on the treadmill and try to immerse myself in the latest Longmire novel.

The text came in ten minutes later.  “No cancer,” Angela texted.  “The pathologist is asking for more slides just to be 100% sure.”

My surgeon called to make sure I’d received the news.  She said there would be a report on Tuesday and she’d call me if we needed future follow ups.  She was happy.  I was happy.  We told each other how happy we were.

Banjo Man was very, very happy, too.  Especially after I told him the odds were against me.  We talked a little more about the road trip and will keep thinking about it.  One huge issue is my energy and stamina.  A lot would have to improve before I could enjoy a week or more on the road.

But at least I have options.  And I don’t have cancer.

2016, heading west.