Sunday, July 11, 2010

Feeling Good

Feeling Good 071010




I’d forgotten how good feeling good feels. For three years I’ve had one or more side effects of surgery and/or chemotherapy—eyes so dry that I can’t wear my contacts, so dry I can hardly stand to open them in the mornings, muscles and bones achy and sore, taste buds and smell diminished, nails splitting into the quick, lips cracked, mouth and tongue sore, no hair or thin hair, various rashes, and a GI system that varies from not-quite-right to totally out of kilter. So when the confluence of circumstances gave me a longer time between infusions, plus the inability to take meds by mouth due to a short-lived but nasty GI bug, my body came through it as “pure” and empty of pharmacological poison as it was in my much younger days.



And oh! What a difference a few days without drugs makes. The joy of waking up feeling GOOD. The freedom of movement when nothing hurts. The actual, not imagined taste of seafood and chocolate birthday cake. Oh, joy! The pleasant, gently tired feeling at bedtime, not exhaustion and daytime naps.



But now, sniff, back to the “new normal.” The side effects. Now that I know my body is still capable of feeling good and working well, it makes taking the medicines voluntarily just that much harder. Whoever said “when you have your health, you have everything” sure knew what he was talking about.

Peggy’s prompt—brussels sprouts

Peggy’s prompt—brussels sprouts—15 minutes




Brussels sprouts. One of the very few foods that I still truly detest. Although as a kid there was a very long list of foods I wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t even taste, as I’ve gotten older, grown up, taste buds died off, whatever, I’ve gotten so that I can eat most anything, and will eat many things. But brussels sprouts? Nien. Un-uh. People tell me that I’ve just never had brussels sprouts cooked really well. Could be. I’ve even had recipes thrust on me with the admonition “you must try this. It’s delicious. Even to people who say they hate brussels sprouts.” Sorry, but I’m too old, my cancer is too advanced, my tolerance for advice so shot, that I don’t give a shit about learning to like brussels sprouts. I intend to die detesting brussel sprouts. And I’m OK with that. After all, no brussels sprout will be offended by my dislike, no part of the earth will be harmed further by the carbon blueprint made by the growing of brussels sprouts just for me. I don’t think my psyche is out of whack because of a dislike of brussel ssprouts, but if it is, I’m prepared to live with that. Listen, just because SOMEONE likes brussels sprouts doesn’t mean I have to. I like fried bluefish roe, do you? I rest my case.

Peggy’s prompt——to honor myself

Peggy’s prompt—041010—to honor myself




I’ve tried to think back into childhood to see why it is so hard for me to honor myself. Maybe it stems from how incredibly shy I was as a schoolgirl when I could hardly bear to have attention turned to me. So, when Mama would tell Grandmother and Pa about my good grades, I hid my head. Not that Mama was bragging. No, my mother didn’t brag, and heartily disapproved of people who did. Perhaps that came from her country upbringing, feeling less secure socially than the kids from town. So, from her, I learned not to brag, and certainly not to brag on myself. I guess of all the “feminine” traits I might have been deliberately taught, modesty would have been at the top of the list.



Then in high school, when it was clear that I could make very good grades, I was always torn between pride in my intellect, pleasure in my achievement but also wanting to fit in with the other kids. As it was, I mostly hung around with a high-achieving crowd, so fitting in was easier.



So how does this relate to honoring myself now? It’s epitomized by my difficulty in writing my own obituary, which I have planned to do for years, even before I got cancer. The problem is that I can’t decide how to portray myself. Do I take the modest route and list only family members who survive me, or do I include a lengthy listing of career achievements, which would, of course, be bragging by my mother’s standards.



So which would honor me more? Or is there a middle ground where a simple statement is included that says something like “Dr. Camp had a career in medical education, retiring in 2001 as Associate Dean at the University of Texas Medical Branch in Galveston. She was a member and officer in several national and international organizations and received a number of awards in recognition of her work.” Would that suffice? Would it both honor the life I’ve lived but also avoid the dreadful sin of bragging? I hope so, as I think I’ve just found a solution to the obituary problem.

Peggy’s Prompt---remember the time when?

Peggy’s Prompt---remember the time when?





Remember the time when….

…we (Mary and I) were kids and Daddy threatened to spank us?

…we (Larry and I) were first married and Donna and I got into a fight?

…I missed my piano recital because I got the address wrong

…you (Larry) and I both had the flu at the same time, and the power went off, etc.

…we (Larry and I) went West in our camper, and Monique and David stayed out all night?

…we (Larry and I and Jonathan and the Jacksons and others) went tubing down the xxx River and you (Larry) turned over and spilled all your stuff in the water?

…Jonathan shot 3 3-point shots in one basketball game? (they lost)

…I said that freshwater fish have no scales. (and there are no elephants in Africa).

…Daddy held 5-week old Jonathan on his shoulder all through his nap? And then when I put Jonathan on the bed for his next nap, Daddy kept gently shaking the bed and saying “I think this boy’s waking up.”

…John called on the telephone to say that Candy had died, and all I could say was “Oh, John” over and over.

…Mama drove me to college in the midst of a hurricane?

…Dick and Alberta came to visit Mama and Daddy and they told dirty jokes after we went to bed, and we (Mary and I) sat with our ears to the bedroom door trying to hear?

…Mama said “You know I don’t like green.”

…Joe and Brazelle taught Melissa the names of things—the WRONG names.

…you were late for school if you weren’t in your seat at the end of the kid playing the trumpet as the flag was raised—was it Reveille?

…you (Mary) wouldn’t ever wear a skirt or dress—only Bermuda shorts?

…you (Alex) and I saw 25 roseate spoonbills in the edge of Clear Creek?

…you (Mama) drove me to first grade, and it turned out that school was not being held because there was no heat, and the temp was 45 degrees?

…I used to walk home from Delaware Avenue Elementary School through 7th street park to our house at the end of 6th street? Sometimes Mama would meet me in the park. Where was Mary? Did she bring her? Leave her home asleep?

…Daddy came home late at night and knocked the back steps over about two feet with the bumper of the car?

…I asked Mama if I was adopted, or if Daddy was my real father. Mama quit raking the mulch from around the orange trees long enough to assure me that he (Daddy) was my real father.

…I used to have girl friends sleep over, and you (Mary) had to sleep on the couch, and how you would position yourself right outside the door to hear what we were saying.

…we (Mary and I and Mama) used to play jacks on our polished wood bedroom floor?

…we (Mary and I and Mama) had the summer of almost continuous canasta?

…Debby used to call Mama “Minnie Moo”

…Carolyn got me to call up someone at random on the phone and ask them to please let Prince Albert out of the can?

…Martha sent me riding breeches---as if I was ever going to ride a horse!

…Agnes told me she hoped Debby would never grow as tall and skinny as me?

...our bridge club met at the Wilhelm’s house, and Gary showed porno flicks in the background?

…Mary would say “I own’t care” if I threatened to tattle on her

…Dennis and I rode to FSU football games on his motorcycle—me riding side-saddle in a skirt and no helmet.

…I saw the end of a rainbow in a field near the FSU Trailer Park? Where was the pot of gold? And the leprechaun.

…Jim was driving me home to Ft. Pierce, and his car spun around a few times on US 1.

…Bonnie’s boyfriend spiked the punch at our Christmas party at the FEA House. (And we were all restricted to campus for 3 weeks.)

…Lloyd came to pick me up for a date dressed in a cowboy outfit.

…to be continued