An Unintentional Break

Unintentional: Not intended or deliberate; inadvertent; unwitting

12 days off from blogging. I think that’s my longest break ever. Nothing is wrong, life is good… I just decided – not really deliberately – to take a step back from all things electronic… computer, email, blogging, surfing the ol’ Internet, etc. It’s impossible to stop all digital activity completely and still live and work these days it seems, though. I’m pretty much always at my computer at work and then there’s the necessary emails to teachers, study groups, etc. while at home. And of course, the phone!! Imagine being without a cell phone these days! Imagine not always being immediately “available!” Ugh.

But here I am, always drawn back to recording life and loves and likes via this blog. I’ve been at it since, uh, well… I think 2007 (!) and it’s still a place of refuge, planning, exploration, and cherishing. A place to both look forward and back. A good place.

So, here it is May, 2011! Happy Sabbath, friends! Looks like it will be a lovely, lovely day here. I’ve so much to share with you, but I think today I will just mention this one thing – I entered our county’s local writing contest and was awarded first place in both adult poetry and adult non-fiction!! Hooray! Today is the award ceremony and reading. I’m a little nervous about the reading. I’m getting over a nasty, nasty cold and my head still feels like it’s twice its normal size. When I talk I feel the words reverberating around my skull. Hopefully, I’ll be feeling better by this afternoon.

The poem was one I wrote some time ago about a teacher I had in 8th grade. The original is here. I dusted it off and spiffed it up a bit before entering it, but it is basically the same. (By the way, in section IV, it’s supposed to be omniscient not ominous. Snort! Funny how you read something and read it and read it but never catch such an obvious error. Dang that spell check!! It’s published wrong in the booklet that’s coming out today for the contest, too. Oh, well. At least I caught it before I read it wrong!)

My non-fiction piece is about an afternoon I spent with a friend last year while she started a new round of chemo. I’ve never put it on this blog and entered it into the contest on a whim. I’m very surprised it won and am struggling a bit with what part of it to read today. It’s a pretty emotional piece – my friend has since died and I’m not sure I’ll be able to read without some tears. I really hope I hold it together. Here’s the last two of the four paragraphs I think I’ll read:

Her doctor, a kind woman with a long willowy frame and short dark hair, comes in and they talk about medicine schedules, next appointments, and prescriptions. I frantically try to jot everything down in my notebook so I can report back to her husband, getting confused by all the odd sounding words - neuropathy, Oxaliplatin, Ultram - and spelling them as best as I can phonetically. This disease has a country and a language all of its own, I think, and the natives don’t take kindly to tourists. The doctor asks about pain, chastising her to be honest. Is she in pain all the time now? I watch as a shadow of fear scampers across her face and then she answers. Yes, pretty much all the time. Her eyes dart over to me to see if I have registered this piece of information. She doesn’t want me to know. They begin to discuss new pain control options and I look down at my notebook, pretending to take more notes. But I am really hiding my face so she doesn’t see that the shadow has jumped from her to me and is circling about trying to find a comfortable perch.

*****

We are alone again and the chemo bag is finally empty. She has become restless, asking how much longer, saying she is feeling very hot, shifting about to get comfortable. Just as the last electrolyte push is finishing, and the nurse is disconnecting the IV, she begins to vomit. The nurse can’t get a pan to her in time so I wad up a blanket and shove it in her lap so she doesn’t soil her clothes. The black boots are now firmly planted on the floor as she bends over and is sick. She hasn’t eaten anything today so there isn’t much to throw up. The nurse and I flit around the small room trying to get the pan and wet rags. When it is over she sits back, wiping her face. I’m sorry. Don’t, I say. Don’t say you are sorry. She repeats the apology several times as the nurse gets more anti-nausea medicine for her and takes out the IV. The nurse tells her she doesn’t have anything to be sorry about and I murmur agreement, trying to make soothing noises as I pat her hand. But I understand. She is saying she is sorry for the mess, but more. She is sorry for the attention she is requiring, the disruption of schedules. She is sorry her body is rebelling. She is sorry she has cancer. I’m sorry, too, I whisper.

So, that’s all from me today! Blessings, bloggy friends~