Waiting game

My gastro doctor called my oncologist and now she is concerned that the weirdness in my throat could be cancer-related and has ordered an MRI of my head and a visit with an ear, nose and throat doctor. God knows how long it will take for that to happen. (I was a little pissed when Dr. Lee suggested I should have called her about this ages ago -- I went to my GP twice and he didn't seem too concerned, and he certainly didn't suggest calling Dr. Lee.) The inability to swallow easily is not worsening but it hasn't been getting any better (though -- dare I say it? -- I think I am swallowing a little more easily this morning -- but maybe it's been like this every morning).

This development is upsetting, on top of the pain I'm dealing with, and I'm fascinated by the games I have to play with my mind to keep on top of my mood. I realize that the rest of my life, however long or short, is going to be like this: new symptoms that could herald further metastasis, more waits to have tests, more waits for test results, good or bad news. How do I live with this every day? I have to learn not to dwell on the unknown, to worry about bad news when it actually arrives and not before.

So I'm in great need of Pollyanna moments: The biggest one occurred yesterday when I met my seniors' memoir-writing group for the first time. It's a pretty small bunch, but they seem eager and excited, and so am I. Teaching is the only work I've ever done that takes me completely out of myself -- for the duration of a class my problems completely vanish from my mind. Despite my hoarse voice, I got through the two hours without too much trouble. In the past, the standing part of teaching was always problematic because I had sciatic pain for so long. Now standing is the only comfortable position for me, so physically I'm almost better suited to teaching than I ever was before.

I can still walk easily and I'm trying to make a point each time I do of really enjoying it, knowing how quickly the ability to walk could disappear.

Almost froze my butt off on Halloween night; we had about 125 kids as usual, and because my front door is up two sets of steps, I took up a post on the lower steps to shell out, sporting my fluorescent witch's hat, and it was bloody cold. It actually felt very Halloweeny: lots of wind blowing the leaves around in the gloom. I've noticed that my neighbourhood, a working-class area within the city that goes all out for Halloween, with music and sound effects and fake smoke, etc., is now home to a lot more young families than it was when I moved here 14 years ago; there was an unusual number of children under five being escorted by their parents (and they have a hell of a time getting up my steps, which is why each year I'm sitting farther and farther away from my house when I give out treats.) It appears that people stay in the small homes around here just until their kids get old enough for nursery school, then they decamp to a bigger place in the suburbs or a smaller city. Unlike some of my older neighbours, no one is willing to raise a family in a two-bedroom rowhouse anymore. As a result, dwindling numbers are threatening the local elementary school and we have very few older children living around here.

A couple of our ex-neighbours, who have since moved to the suburbs but miss the raucous Halloween on our street, dropped by to participate and it was great to see them.

The next day my family gathered at my brother's to celebrate my oldest nephew's 14th birthday, and it was the first time in a while that my Dad had travelled any distance to attend a family event. He was mightily confused, and the effort it took to get him there was onerous; I don't know if Mom would do it again. Still, he really seems to enjoy being around large family groups even if he is perplexed, and that's nice to see. He always did like family parties.