Perhaps the most disconcerting thing about dealing with a cancer diagnosis is the barrage of doctors one encounters. Every time you turn a corner there is another doctor ready to stick you, poke you, scan you, test you, or squeeze you.

Today I went to see my oncologist for my regular six month "feel up". I can no longer have mammograms...Ahhh, too bad. But instead I get a recurring boob massage every six months to check for tumors. Oddly, I have no sensation from the outer touch, which apparently is typical. There I am, boobs to the wind, and my oncologist holding a conversation with me as she squeezes and strokes them. Awkward. My oncologist is a very kind Asian woman who has had breast cancer herself and shows extreme concern and tenderness to her patients. She has a great memory of her clients and has a sense of humor to boot. None of this though takes away the awkwardness of having my boobs handled for a good ten minutes by a woman. Yes, my sister might enjoy this, but I would prefer a large man with a six pack (not beer)...More on my sis later...tomorrow!

I have to admit that going to these appointments is somewhat anxiety provoking. I attempt not to think about it, but every six months I relive the diagnosis and fear the recurrence of such an event. Perhaps my doctor knows this and makes attempts at conversation to redirect her patient's attention. As she continues to feel where my lymph nodes were removed, I wince in pain. She continues to investigate and question me about the sensitivity. Although I have no external feeling on the boobs, I do have internal pain and pain where she was feeling...more in the arm pit area. Due to radiation, I have developed capsular contracture on more than one occassion, so the pain is not surprising to either of us. We wrap up the appointment with discussing my having "occupational therapy" on my boobs. Okay, that could just lead me down so many paths of jokes, it's not even funny! She tells me the therapy, albeit painful, can help break up the scar tissue and relieve some of the pain and tightness. Unfortunately, last time I checked, my insurance wouldn't cover occupational therapy on my boobs. Really. I checked.

So, why is this considered a Retro story? Well, as I was leaving my exam room, the doc and I were greeted by Dr. Creepy, my plastic surgeon. I was confused. He's not supposed to be here! My brain couldn't wrap around this familiar face in an unfamiliar office. I'm supposed to see him next week, not today. What threw me was I suddenly got sent mentally back to surgery day. These two people who stood before me had, less than 2 years ago, operated on me in tandem for over 9 hours. It was such a personal thing and yet we exchanged pleasantries like they had once consulted on re-roofing my house not removing and replacing my breasts. Then they both commented on my weight loss...all I could think was Dr. Creepy was eyeing me for a possible future nick and nuck of excess skin. See ya next week, Dr. Creepy! I exit realizing I need to mentally prepare for another "feel up" and, even worse, picture session. Oh yeah...more on that after next week's appointment.

Judging from this look..not my daughter's favorite time. Yes, so many plants that she had to hold a flat in her lap, as did I.  I worked an entire day of overtime for these flowers, so smile, damn it!  Anybody who knows me well, knows that Spring is my Christmas. I save all during the year just to be able to creat a jungle outside my door during the summer months that I can nurture and enjoy. It has become my new vice.  With the old vices of cigarettes, alcohol, and fast food being a thing of the past, this vice doesn't seem too bad.

Isn't it odd how we humans spend the first 30 years or so of our lives abusing our bodies and spending the rest of our lifetime trying to rectify the damage we have done. And there is absolutely nothing we can tell younger people to instill a sense of mortality at an earlier age in an attempt to keep them from falling into the same bad habits.  

So, this week I go to the gym 4 days, go to the oncologist for my 6 month cancer follow-up, drink lots of herbal tea and water, take my bizillion vitamins and medications, eat mostly protein and vegetables, slather on SPF 50 when I go outside, and still work 50 hours. No wonder kids don't like healthy living...It sounds awful boring!!! Thank God for my flowers.

They often say in the Midwest that Spring falls on one day of the week and then we go right into the blazing hot summer. Today it fell on the best day yet...Graduation Day. Today my son greeted the rest on his life in beautiful downtown Chicago at Millenium Park which sits directly across the street from where he has attended college for the last four years. Thankfully, the universe smiled down on us and gave us a sparkling sky, warm weather, and blooming flowers everywhere. What a way to mark the end of one journey and the start of the next.

As a mom, it was a bitter sweet day. At this point I am so excited to see my son launch into his own life. It is time, and we are both ready for him to move into that phase. But there is that little pain I felt as I watched my oldest child walk across the stage to receive his diploma....now a man. Life events suddenly come tumbling out of the recesses of my memory bank. His birth when, rather than cry, he seemingly stared at the hospital clock and grabbed the doctors forceps. His love of playing with legos and action figures and pretending to be Aladdin. His pulling his pants down at a formal baptism to show all the girls what he had that they didn't. His first day at day care, kindergarden, high school, then college. His first bike ride in Michigan. His Easter Egg hunts at Oma's in Santa Barbara. The Spelling Bee he won in elementary school. His amazing ability in Tae Kwon Do. His fondnes of Barney, then Power Rangers, Pokemon, Dragon Ball Z, Men In Black, Lord of the Rings....and wham...GIRLS! His honesty about becoming sexually active at a time when every mother would just rather be lied to. Getting his driver's license. And then there was the artwork...all the time since he could pick up a crayon. He would go in his bedroom and draw for hours. It soothed him and seemed to make him genuinely happy...and he was, is really, really amazing! Once he was accused of drawing a nasty picture of his 4th grade teacher. I looked at the drawing and laughed, knowing full well he hadn't drawn it. The teacher looked at me quizzically. "Harrison didn't draw that. He couldn't draw that badly if he tried." Then his countless art festival awards.

I watched as he crossed the stage, but part of me was immersed in recollection. My chest tightened. Oh hell, Susanne, don't cry. This little baby I brought home from the hospital almost 22 years ago was setting forth on his own life's journey. I am in awe, sad, proud, elated.

This parent thing never gets easy, does it? Yes, Mom, you warned me. Damn it, I hate it when she is right...which is almost always. Maybe I should delete that last part. Could come back to bite me. Oh well, truth be told, she deserves some applause. Most of us think we have it all figured out in our twenties and treat our parents like some sub-human species that really doesn't know how this thing called life works. Then we have kids of our own, still thinking we know better than the last generation...then life happens and we get older and wiser and, oh, so much less cocky. Suddenly we realize that Mom did "kind of" know what she was doing and talking about, then we move from "kind of" to full on respect.  I look forward to that day. Mom, you have my full on respect!

But today, I bask in the glory of my son making it through many years of struggling, hard work, and incredible focus. He seems rejuvinated and rearing to go. That is why I recommend people of all ages attend a college garduation periodically. The youthful energy is infectious. The feeling they can conquer the world and make a difference has not yet been jaded by the humdrum tedium of the day-to-day tasks in life. It was palpable today and gave me a renewed sense of respect for life and what we do with it.

The day ended with my almost 14 year old daughter and I driving back from Chicago to Milwaukee, singing along with her I-Tunes selections, laughing, listening to comedy she pulled off You-Tube. We took an unintended scenic route along Lake Michigan then headed West towards the freeway through small, amazing ethnic neighborhoods in Northern Chicago. We traveled through Pakistan, India, & Russia. It made me realize that the next 4 years will go so fast, and then I will be able to move anywhere in the world I want to. As we listened to Jim Gaffigan sing "Hot Pockets", my daughter burst into laughter. I looked over at her. I hope "anywhere in the world" ends up close to these two amazing people I have spent my life raising.

The flood of memories started again. So much of my life has been dedicated to these two kids. And as a single mom, that concentration intensified and became my priority for years. I needed to make sure these two not only survived a broken home but moved on as individuals, strong, happy, nurtured, and with an appreciation for life. I'm thinking we are okay...not too much therapy in their adulthood. One down...one to go.

This picture was taken the day you stuck the apple seed up your nose.
 You were certain even then of what you were doing…until it got stuck.
 Then you were even more certain an apple tree was going to sprout from your head.
 And once again I held you in my arms as tears ran down your cherub-like cheeks,
 Rocking you, consoling you, and wanting to laugh so hard my side hurt.
 Nope, no apple tree sprouted from your head, but your imagination, creativity,
 And ability to create wild tales were evident even then.
 So tomorrow I watch my little Mr. Apple Seed graduate from college,
 And as I do, I would be remiss in sending you off without a few “pearls of wisdom”.
 Never say anything you don’t mean.
 Never forget to say what you do mean.
 And don’t be mean.
 Remember to keep a sense of empathy in a world that lacks it, 
A sense of humor in a world that needs it,
 A sense of humility in a world that could use it,
 And a few cents in your pocket to call mom if pay phones still exist.
 Appreciate what you have in life rather than bemoaning what you don’t,
 And always remain true to yourself.
 Most of all, when life gets rough,
 Which it has a habit of doing,
 Always remember the apple seed story, smile, take a deep breath,
 And remember that mom left a kiss in your hand for love and strength.
Congratulations, Harrison!



  

It was a dark and stromy night. No, really, it was. It was cold too...not a night I particularly wanted to venture out with my 7 year old son to a school fair. I was 3 months pregnant and not feeling well. We waited for Dad, so we could all drive together to the elementary school.  As usual, Dad was late, really late. Through out the years the standard excuse has been that he is working at a wine tasting. In fact, this excuse for being late is still the standard. This evening was no different. I begged him to cut out early because I had started experiencing terrible cramps and some discharge. His usual, cold response came through the phone, "What do you want me to do? Quit my job?"

I remembering looking at my son who clearly just wanted to get going to school for the festivities. So, we ventured out. What's the saying? Grin and bear it? Yup. I made it through the evening but knew something was terribly wrong. We got home and got my son to bed and that's when the cramps brought me to my knees. I begged my husband to call the doctor. He handed me the phone to make the call. Such compassion. I miscarried. The next morning after getting my son off to school, without informing him of what had transpired the night before, I ventured to my OB-Gyn. I was crushed inside. My husband and I had tried having a second child for many, many years, culminating in my being on hormone therapy. I felt like such a failure and mourned the loss of my baby in solitude. People tried to be understanding, but like cancer, or death of a loved one, or divorce, you really don't quite understand the emotions tied to the event unless you have experienced it first hand.

That afternoon I informed my son what happened. He cried and said, "But I told my teacher about the baby coming soon. You made me lie to my teacher!" Wow, didn't see that one coming. We hugged and cried, perhaps for different reasons, but still jointly mourning the loss of expectations and the baby.


That night I had a dream about a very small little, blonde-haired girl. She whispered, "Don't worry, Mommy. I'll be with you soon. My name is Clairyssa Marie."  About a year later my daughter was born. She named herself Clairyssa Marie.

Ironically, my grandmother's name was Maria, and the little girl in the dream seemed to exude a similar strong and stubborn feminine presence that my Nanna had always possessed. However, Nanna was in her 80s now and suffering from dementia. She passed away only four short months after my daughter came into this world. Although I miss Nanna often and wish my kids could have spent time with the woman I remember, I see an incredible resemblence between her and my daughter, as if part of her spirit lives on.

I missed writing my blog on Mother's Day...had to get some much needed R&R myself. But today I want to not only look back at this amazing event in my life but also pay tribute to the incredible matriarch of our family, Maria deVries.

As I develop the "Characters" page for this blog I will be including a short description of her incredible life spanning from the Nazi occupation of Amsterdam, years in the Australian Outback, and immigrating to the US. But until then, I can only tell you she gave the women in my family the will to fight a good fight, while still being able to enjoy a piece of chocolate, a good puzzle, and a long walk after dinner.  And even though they never met, Maria passed on this same zest for life to Clairyssa Marie. No doubt.

Happy Mother's Day, Nanna.

It is rather an adventure living in a home that's almost 110 years old.  You know about the plumbing, which I think all family members have now figured out. But every day I have to smile when I look at the door handles, and hard wood doors, floors, and cabinets throughout the place. Yes, the doors sometimes don't close quite right, but good golly, who can deny the craftsmenship that can withstand over 100 years of use and still look this beautiful? I never thought a door knob would bring me joy in the morning. Okay, maybe I'm just strange or really need to get a life. Do not answer that! But, honestly, when I reach for my bedroom door every morning I see craftsmanship, attention to detail, and it really does make me feel happy.

As a society we have worked so hard to create efficiency, foresaking beauty and pride in the detail. Ironically, I moved into this place in 20 degree weather, and now the energy bill just arrived. It was no more than my previous smaller apartment with fewer windows and the ugliest, cheap woodwork you have every seen. I have to admit, I was really surprised.

However, there is education to be had. For instance, I opened this window for the first time, not realizing that it was still the kind of window operated by a pulley system. The large weight got stuck inside the wall, and I couldn't close it. But here is why renting is so glorious...I called my landlords...nicest older couple...and Bamm..there they were. The husband was pulling the trim off the window just chatting away about these old homes, while the wife was pulling weeds out of the garden, swabbing the back stairwell, and sharing stories with me about the neighbors, the trees, and the perennials popping up everywhere. Don't get me wrong, they have installed storm windows, so there is some energy efficiency working in our favor. But I pondered how I never, in the last 8 years of renting energy-efficient, modern, management-run apartments, encountered such efficiency in responding to my need for assistance served up with such a strong dose of personal connection.

And really, how many homes have heater vents like this nowadays? Yes, I took a picture of a heater vent. Hhhhmmm, maybe I do need to get out more! Well, until then, I am thrilled to be finding some beauty in life and community.
Baby steps!

Today starts another long streak of doctor appointments mixed in between huge life achievement celebrations for my kids. It seems only appropriate that it all starts up again two years after my bi-lateral surgery.

The big question is whether to do away with the painful implants altogether, opt for more invasive surgery, or stick it out and finally get nipples. Yes, I said it...as if it were like getting a pedicure. The odd thing is having boobs without nipples is strangely like looking at a face in the mirror every morning that has no eyes.  It looks unnatural and is a definite reminder of everything that has transpired.

So, I will enjoy seeing my son's premier of his short film in Chicago, see him graduate from college, see my daughter perform at the Pabst Theatre, and in there, somewhere between working and driving, go visit my oncologist, my regular doctor, and then Dr. Creepy....or should we now call him Nipple Man?

I am confident I will come out of that doctor visit with some good stories.

My daughter told me the other day that she would be sure to read my blog on Wednesday when she was out of town. I asked her why just Wednesday, afterall, don't you read it everyday? Ok, apparently not. I haven't exactly made my blog public knowledge as I practice this venue, and my kids clearly feel no need to check it out on a daily basis.  But why Wednesday? "Because it's Retro Wednesday, of course," she responded in a matter-of-fact tone. I looked at her, and she saw the confusion in my eyes. "Mom, on Wednesdays you usually explain past events that I know about, but I don't know how you saw them. I find it interesting to see your explanation of the events as compared to how I remember them. It's really kind of cool."

It's precisely what I have told my kids all along and learned early on with my own brother and sister. We all have our own realities. Two kids that are 8 years apart in a family are most certainly going to remember their upbringing in completely different ways...the making of different histories. What I didn't think of was that, of course, the kids would also have a completely different perspective from mom and dad. Just as mom and dad have completely different perspectives as well. But what I love about communicating with my kids about these things is we learn about each other and how we take in our surroundings. We are able to learn about different perspectives.

Recently, my son has been on my daughter's case about "getting out and making more friends". This is rather a sore spot for my daughter.  I have thought about this a lot as I do not want to become my daughter's only friend. So I started looking back at our "histories", and I came upon an interesting revelation. Over the years, my daughter had often had friends visit for sleep overs, played and bicycled in the neighborhoods where we lived, and was often invited to parties. But two years ago, my daughter became ingrossed in her dance and started being very much a homebody when not at dance. 
 

Well, it then occurred to me that this young girl, 11 years old when this trend started becoming apparent, was her mom's only keeper when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Her brother was away at school, and so she and I went out for a special dinner when I told her. She was strong but most certainly scared and most likely feeling lonely. During the unsuing summer months, we thankfully had many friends and family decend on our normally very tiny household. I went through a grueling 9 hour surgery, and I think my daughter felt she was relegated to the outer rim during those weeks.

When school started again in September, the dust had settled and all family and friends were gone. As I started my daily radiation treatments and went back to work full-time, the only person left was my daughter, since my son too had returned to school in Chicago. This young girl matured very quickly during that time, striving to be supportive and strong as the radiation and chronic pain sapped my energy. My daughter's dance classes became her escape from the realities of life, but I believe during that time she withdrew from the normal day-to-day silliness that teenage girls so often enjoy and need.

So, although I know my daughter will now make more new friends at her next school, I respect her "history". Not many teenage girls face the reality of their mother's frailty and learn about these deep life lessons at such a tender age. We may all see something different when looking at the same picture, but it's acknowledging the other person's perception that helps us understand each other.

Now, as my son graduates from college, I hope to also learn more about how he is seeing the world. Ahhh, if only these kids came with manuals!

Efficiency does not appear to be the name of the game when it comes to the US Postal Service. No disrespect intended toward people who work there. It just seems that the organization is not up to speed when it comes to getting a package from point A to point B.

My previous landlord sent the refund of my security deposit for my lease by certified mail on April 22nd. I'm assuming they sent it rather than allowing me to pick it up because they didn't want me to make a scene when I see how much they squirreled away in miscellaneous, ridiculous charges. Nonetheless, I was able to go online and track the item, so there is record of the package being picked up on the 22nd. The envelope has since then made mighty travels from New Berlin, WI to Milwaukee, WI and back again...and back again,,,and back again. It's the 7th of May, so you can imagine the "back agains" continue. I have tried calling, e-mailing, and visiting the post office in person. The answer is always the same...if I get an answer at all. "It's at the sorting station." So, how many times does this poor envelope get sorted before it is released from postal purgatory?

So, I continue to go online and watch the status of my mail being bounced back and forth with no ability to retrieve it from the abyss of the sorting station, having no idea why it cannot make it to its proper destination since I have confirmed the delivery address repeatedly. And the Postal Service continues to raise its rates and limit its service. Like milk delivery, then newspapers, I suspect the US Postal Service will soon succumb to the modern age of technology.  But until then, how the hell do I get my mail!?

Christened the balcony with a scrumptuous barbeque yesterday for Cinco de Mayo. I only share these pictures in the hope that a month from now this balcony will be full of flowers and look far more inviting than it does in its current state. Like the inside of my apartment, the balcony is still in disarray and yearns for some organization and tender loving care. Unfortunately, today I hit my 27th consecutive day of working which has left little time for unpacking. I prefer to explore the city than unpack stuff in my few moments of freedom. But I have vowed that at the end of May I get some time off to "do my planting."

 I now actually live across from a place where I used to tend to the landscaping when I did my two year stint as a landscaper. Then today I drove by a commercial building and there was the old "Spring Gardens" one-ton truck I used to drive. When I drive around the city, it seems so crazy all the places where I planted flowers.  Now I just crave the chance to get my hands dirty and make flower arrangements on my new balcony. What is extra exciting is to be able to share these creations. In my old apartment, we faced a marsh where no one could see the fabulous green forest evolving on the 2nd story balcony. Now I just have to work a little more to afford my addiction.

As for the BBQ...well, I attempted to make shrimp burgers from scratch with ginger, cilantro, peanut sauce, and garlic. The flavor was amazing; however, I must have done something wrong because they became mush balls on the grill. I guess practice makes perfect. The marinated, grilled egg plant rounds were a success along with the oriental cole slaw. I think Spring may have finally arrived here in the Midwest! Hooray!