Shawl as life metaphor?

Recently I have been trying to again learn to knit but with fewer rules, refusing to follow patterns, not listening to the needlepoint and knitting police, and just going my own way while I build some skills. So, I took my skills, old and new and make a beautiful shawl, using yarn that I had received after my great-aunt died and knitting needles I received from her and my grandmother and only recently rediscovering. I have been crocheting since age 12 or 13 as a way to get out of sewing class in junior high, getting my grandmother to teach me, and needlepointing since age 13 when a friend of my mother's had a needlepoint business and gave me a pillow to make as a gift and would steer business to me to finish projects of other women who didn't have the patience for it. I made some good money in those days, especially as a teenager, finishing other people's work. Yes, I'd had tried to learn to knit before but it never really clicked, maybe the timing wasn't right, maybe I just wasn't focused, maybe I just wasn't ready. So, instead, now I am learning, and feel that it is sticking, that the time is right to begin this part of my journey, and returning to lessons learned in the past and applying them to now and the future. And, while I was creating this shawl from the remnants of yarn left from probably about 20 years ago, using old and new skills, old skills from my family and new skills from friends, sometimes making mistakes, and lacking in perfection, but learning as I go, isn't that really all about life? We take skills and lessons learned, and add our personalities and creativity, make mistakes along the way, discarding what we don't like and can't use, and still end up with something beautiful and warm and that can be passed along and shared with others after we are gone. It will be something to wrap ourselves in and remember all that came before it to get to a point where it could be made, even with its mistakes, and what will come in the future from the lessons learned while making it and wearing it. Most importantly, it will be a special gift for a special friend after I am gone to pass along this history and these lessons.

One year later - with hair

A little over a year ago, I cut my hair from a few inches past my shoulders to short and spiky. It is hard to remember what I look like with what my husband called my thick "lionhair" in auburn, versus my salt and pepper mess that is still growing out, knowing it will take at least another year to get it back to some semblance of normal, thicker, longer, healthier, rather than chopped up, not as thick as it used to be, not as healthy as it used to be thanks to all the chemicals free floating in my body. It was a miracle that I had any hair left after 18 chemo treatments, but it is absolutely an indicator of my overall health and I hope I live long enough to feel my hair has returned with my life.

Life meaning death

Until becoming ill, I have always been a voracious reader, one or two books per week was normal for years, reading all the biographies in the school library in sixth grade, coming home from the town library with armloads of books, and being grateful for my Sony Reader where I have stored more than 300 books as my shelves are full, even with all the books given away over the years or resold (hundreds). But since becoming ill, reading is very difficult, as it is hard to focus, thanks to chemo-brain and the attendant fog, as if my brain was stewing in chemicals. Thus, I have read any two books on the last year, but am trying hard to get back on track, reading four books more recently and pushing to read another 4 in the last few weeks. One a week perhaps. I read fiction and non-fiction, history books always fascinating be they American or European history. I always can imagine life during those times and at times have wished I could have lived in certain eras but am always brought back to reality by being grateful that today people bath, that antibiotics exist, and most importantly for me now, that treatments exist for ovarian cancer. It may only extend my life a year or two, but that is more that people used to have only a few years ago. Perhaps in the future, it will all be different and life will beget more life. Now it only seems to mean death, particularly in the past and possibly in the present.

Another loss to this horrible disease

Pierce Brosnan's daughter from his first marriage died today from ovarian cancer at age 41 after only 3 years. Her mother died at 39. Her grandmother too died from the disease. Is there a brca gene there? Why didn't she have her ovaries removed after she had her children, given the history? Was she like me, thinking she could be monitored and they could catch it? http://omg.yahoo.com/blogs/celeb-news/pierce-brosnan-daughter-dies-ovarian-cancer-125318041.html

Wheelchair invisible

Years ago my husband and I were discussing odd situations we've experienced like seeing folks laughing or smiling (in an comfortable way) when they observe someone being sick meaning vomiting. Why is that? My answer has always been we're all relieved its not us because we know how horrible a feeling that is, when you are that nauseous. Perhaps it is the same issue when people see someone in a wheelchair, are they that uncomfortable? Are they just relieved it isn't them? I am not sure on this one, but definitely noticed it when I was being wheeled through the airport last week. It wasn't that I was too sick to travel, just too sick to walk long distances and stand in long TSA lines. Did not have it in me. But as I was being wheeled down the concourse I definitely noticed people trying not to notice me. They wouldn't move as we approached as if we were invisible, me and the wheelchair, my son and his bag, and the person pushing me. Surprising really, for me as I am always so aware and try to be courteous to everyone, especially someone with disabilities. But it was a noticeable difference as people just stood still and seemed not to want to move, would look past me and over me, refusing to look at my face and look down at me. Is it a reverse road rage? Knowing that they can't say anything to someone in a weaker capacity but really wanting to? Instead, I was just wheelchair invisible, not a real person, but a lesser one, a weaker one who did not deserve recognition or acceptance. Sad.

Breaking the rules

As I learn how to knit, continue to crochet and needlepoint, hooking rugs, it has me thinking about breaking the rules and perfectionism. All these years I have been doing handicraft type work I am always trying to follow every pattern to perfection, every color correct, every stitch, pulling out mistakes and making corrections sometimes to frustration. But with cancer, my attitude has changed. I am more creative, doing what I want, making what I want, if a mistake is made does it really matter? does it add to the piece? Does it make it more human? Who is going to know - the needlepoint police? So to hell with it, I am unhooking my linear brain as much as possible and going with the creative flow and seeing what comes out.

Passport renewal

Now that passports are renewed every ten years, it made me think while traveling this week. My passport will renew again in 2020, seven more years. Without a passport it feels as though I am not a real person as I know I cannot travel outside the US, go the places I want to go and experience the world. But in looking at my passport it is further evidence of my mortality with cancer and the possibility that this may be my last passport since I amy not live long enough to renew it again, or be too sick to travel. I need to make it ten more months to see my son finish his first year of college. Beyond that I cannot plan or think until I see what condition I am in at that point. But 2020? Doubtful unless the sciences changes significantly in the next few years.

Migraines evolving

Unfortunately, I have suffered from migraines since I was about 6 years old. Hitting puberty made them worse, but more regular and predictable. Pregnancy seemed to stop them, and continued while I was breast feeding. Menopause seemed to have lessened them substantially and turn them more into regular headaches. Unfortunately, chemo seems to have kicked them back in with a vengeance, worse, waking me up in the middle of the night with pounding head feeling powerless to move and forcing me now to result to medication I had been prescribed before but always rejected because it would make me too tired and unable to drive or work. Before, sleeping would always alleviate it, but now it doesn't. Nausea but worse. Instead of one every thirty days, now have had two in three days. What fun.