May They Always Come Back

Oh those rings! I’ve talked about my rings before. I have an engagement ring and a wedding band sitting on the finger these rings are supposed to be sitting on…that is they were sitting there last week, they occasionally leave and decide to sit elsewhere. For instance, in the past I had been concerned that because I was doing somewhat strenuous activities (like twenty years ago), that I might lose my rings, so I put them in a safe little box. I didn’t know that the safe little box would be in an unsafe apartment that would be the victim of a steam pipe explosion. After that explosion, I thought those rings were lost or maybe stolen-I couldn’t find them anywhere; Jon bought me new rings. Five years later when I was clearing out an old box from our old apartment (we didn’t have that much left from that apartment-most everything was contaminated with asbestos, or destroyed, or stolen), I went through this box, and there they were…the other rings…waiting to be found…just resting. Someone (not me), one of the workers that had been hired to clean the building, must have put the little box into this bigger box, not knowing what was inside the safe little box, or maybe they did, and decided to leave them there to rest.

Then a different time, when I was about 8 months pregnant with Rachel, I took off my rings (the newer ones), because my fingers were swollen, and put them in a jewelry box in my closet. I didn’t think much about it. A couple weeks later I looked for the rings but I couldn’t find them. I didn’t think much about it, there was so much going on at the time. Not only was I pregnant-but we were raising the roof on our house and building another floor. The construction was behind schedule-instead of the building being completed by the time Rachel was born, we were just starting to build right before Rachel was born. We were also dealing with the process of hiring a babysitter or nanny because I was only taking off 6 weeks before I went back to work. Jamie was 7 years old at the time, Jon wasn’t loving his job…so maybe, just maybe I hadn’t put those rings in the jewelry box-it was possible. I thought about it, but I wasn’t obsessing over it. Then I got a call from the local Coach store thanking me for my purchases for $500-only problem was I hadn’t made any purchases there. The next day I received a call from my credit card company informing me that I had made $8000 worth of purchases…wrong. Hmmmmmm…. I decided to take a ride to the Coach Store with a picture of my babysitter (she was the only other person besides myself that would have had access to my closet). When I got to the store I asked to see the woman who had called me. She came out from the back of the store, and of course she did not recognize me, but interestingly she recognized my daughter Jamie who had come along on this bit of Secret Agent business with me; she apparently had been with our babysitter on the day the Coach purchase in question had been made. Jamie wasn’t supposed to be driven anywhere without prior permission-guess our babysitter forgot. I showed her the picture of our babysitter, and she confirmed that the picture was definitely the “thankee” that she meant to be calling on the phone the day before my visit. I decided to go to the police the following day. The police couldn’t do anything about the Coach purchase because it was a credit card exchange and that was out of their jurisdiction. But what about those rings? I wasn’t sure if our babysitter might have gone into my jewelry box in her spare time-but it seemed considering the recent information, that it was possible. The police went to her house-she let them inside; they told me afterward that she had piles of bags and boxes-probably from all her shopping sprees. They asked her to accompany them to the Police Station; she answered some questions and was kind enough to produce a pawn slip for my missing rings. What do you know? The rings were missing! They were stolen! So the rings went on another trip and back they came. They could have been sold, but they weren’t. Our babysitter could have chosen to not produce that pawn slip, but she did.

So…last week, I noticed that my increasingly thinner fingers were not holding onto my rings the way I’d like them to, and I wondered if I should have them resized…that day was Wednesday. As I wondered this, I thought it will be easier to decrease the rings, than to increase them, and that while the band for my engagement ring is simple, my wedding band would require a bit of artistry should I need to increase its size after decreasing its size, and would it really be worth it to go through all that, when my fingers might very well expand in the near future. Much thinking was given to this matter. I specifically choose to wear the wedding band on top of the engagement ring because it’s smaller and that way it acts as a stop gap if you will, for the engagement ring, also thinking strictly monetarily, the engagement ring is more expensive than the wedding ring, and all and all, while I’d be sad…very sad if I were to lose them, I’d be much sadder if I were to lose the engagement ring.

Then Thursday came…that’s Laundry Day. It was about five in the afternoon, and I was in the Laundry Room (this is quite a good size room, as rooms go), I casually tossed a pair of jeans from the laundry basket into our front-loading washing machine, and there it went…I could feel the rings moving easily and quickly past my ring finger knuckle. The jeans went into the washer, I looked down at my hand, and I saw the engagement ring teeter-tottering at the tip of my ring finger, and the wedding band was gone. I didn’t hear a sound, I had no idea what direction it may have gone; it didn’t even occur to me that it might have gone into the washer. I was most concerned about a very large drainpipe that sits directly in front of the washer, that’s about four inches wide and infinitely deep. I finished loading what I needed to load, now and then scanning around to see what I could see…seeing nothing. Not Good. I didn’t turn on the washer because I wasn’t sure how this would effect the drainpipe-if water would rise in it, and potentially sweep my wedding band down and or out. I stood for about five minutes in the room, trying to pick up on the energy or the “signs”, as I sometimes do in these situations, and I had a tremendous pull to look directly under the washing machine. I didn’t have a pull to look anywhere else, so I went with that calling. I should mention that the edge of the washer sits about four inches from the deep drain to nowhere. I got down on my knees and looked under the washer…not so slightly under, past lots of lint, fuzz…lots of things, I caught a glimpse of something about five inches back from the edge, that could have been a button, maybe an old toy; it was hard to tell. I reached in, barely able to touch it, and it was my wedding ring. So there it goes again…always coming back. I was very glad to have been reconnected with my friend.

After I put the rings in a place for safe-keeping (I hope), and think about what I should do about wearing them…should I eat more, decrease the size, or hang them from a chain around my neck? I quickly got on the phone and called my Mom and five friends-all people who know the history of my rings. I wanted to find out what meaning they thought this recent ring event had if any…wondering if they thought it meant anything else other than I needed to eat more because my fingers were becoming too thin. The responses were all very “ringlike”. I share these thoughts…to me they represent the magic of the rings and of life. The responses were, “you’re lucky in unlucky situations”, “Jon will always be there for you”, “those rings are meant to always come back to you”, “those rings belong to you”, and lastly from my good friend Cindy, “I think this is a sign, that just like all the other times when your rings left and came back, it’s the sign of a new beginning”. Oh those rings!

What doesn't happen is almost as important as what does happen

It’s been two weeks and two days since my last radiation treatment. I feel improved…some what. I feel relieved and I feel reflective.

What am I thinking about? I’m pondering the events of life. Why things happen? When they happen. Why things don’t happen? How what doesn’t happen is sometimes just as important as what does happen. I’m thinking about the “fork in the road”…my forks in the road.

I’m thinking about how/why shortly after Jon and I had Jamie (19 years ago), our apartment became a casualty of a Con Edison explosion, but we happened to go out for a walk on a rainy August day with a 4 month old baby right before the explosion. If we had been in the apartment we would have more than likely been severely injured. Our next door neighbor was killed.

I’m thinking about how almost exactly a year from that explosion, I woke up one morning with double vision, a week later I was told I had a brain tumor, and three weeks after that I was having brain surgery for the first time. This was unbelievable.

I’m thinking of all the people I know and how they affect my life, and why and how I met them.

I’m thinking about how on September 11th I was on the tarmac at JFK airport, ready to take off to Los Angeles on an American Airlines plane. We were delayed because two reporters from CNN needed to get off the plane, they had apparently just gotten the news before any of us, that an AA plane had just hit the World Trade Center. My plane was held up, we were deplaned and almost as though I was being swept through the airport on a magic carpet, made my way through the crowded airport with ease, and shortly afterward onto an almost empty bus that was making its way out to Long Island where I lived. What if this plane took off? This was extraordinary.

I’m thinking about how Jon worked across the street from the World Trade Center, but hadn’t left for work yet on that day. What if he had left earlier, or the plane that bulleted its way into the Trade Center left later?

I’m thinking about how I was misdiagnosed 18 years ago, and that my tumor wasn’t what I was told it was back in 1990. In hindsight, the doctor doing my surgery was probably not up to such a complicated procedure. I chose him based on the fact that I had several other doctors at the hospital he was at, and that both he and the hospital had an outstanding reputation. Reputation isn’t everything; I know that now. Because my surgeon wasn’t up for this procedure (not many surgeons, if any back then could have been…it was very complicated), he treaded lightly, not really doing what he needed to do to get an accurate pathology, but by doing so, he also didn’t rob me of too much neurological function. I lost my hearing in one ear, I had facial paralysis (which returned). It could have been much, much worse. But it wasn’t. This is lucky.

I’m thinking about how I had a doctor that examined me every year, but never looked hard enough at the yearly MRI’s to notice that my tumor was growing. It grew to the size of orange, and yet miraculously we (the tumor and I) lived alongside each other. Considering all the nerves that it was next to, it could have made it so that I needed a feeding tube, a breathing tube, lost my sight…killed me; but it didn’t. This was a miracle.

I’m thinking about how I finally met a neurologist that felt that there was something significant enough on my MRI that I should seek a consult with a neurosurgeon. This was good timing.

He referred me to three surgeons. Two of the three thought the tumor was a chondrosarcoma. These two surgeons suggested very aggressive surgery. The other surgeon thought that it was a different, more nebulous tumor, and mapped out a much less invasive surgery. I chose this surgeon because I felt it was better to have a less invasive surgery to find out exactly what the tumor was. This was smart thinking.

The surgery proved that it was a chondrosarcoma. Now I was armed with a real diagnosis. My surgeon suggested two other surgeries to remove the tumor. I was able to stay calm in the eye of the storm. I was able to stay positive. This was amazing.

My surgeon didn’t feel that Proton Therapy was effective for my type of tumor. He felt that Proton Therapy was only for small, round tumors. I was perseverant. I realized that doctors, no matter how good, or well regarded they may be, are just people, and they don’t know everything about everything. This was insightful.

I found out that Proton Therapy is not just for small, round tumors, but more specifically for large, hard to reach, irregular tumors. I found out that this radiation therapy is the best therapy for chondrosarcomas; that there is evidence that surgery actually stimulates the growth of chondrosarcomas, and that there is quite a long history of success for people who have been treated with Proton Therapy for chondrosarcomas. This was enlightening, and fortifying; this was the best chance at a cure that exists.

I’m thinking about how I was able to find my way to a radiation oncologist at Mass General that probably knows more about the kind of tumor that I have/had than any other doctor in the country, and I did it by self-referring myself. This feels like…I don’t know. Some would say devine guidance, some would say law of attraction, and some would say luck. This was amazing. This may have saved my life.

When it was time to go to Mass General Hospital in Boston for seven weeks for treatment, I was able through the help of friends to find an apartment. A friend of a friend was leaving her apartment in Boston for almost exactly the time period I needed to have one, and she refused to accept any payment for the apartment. The apartment was only three blocks from the hospital. This was good fortune.

Friends and family moved their own schedules and commitments to help me out, which made things so much easier than it otherwise would have been. This was so appreciated.

I’m thinking about how much more experienced and confident I am now, than I was when I was first diagnosed. That very little trumps age and wisdom. I don’t think I would have found my way to Proton Therapy 18 years ago (it did exist back then, but in embryonic form). The internet didn’t exist, I still lived in the belief that doctors knew everything, and if they didn’t, they would say so. I wouldn’t have questioned my doctor back then. Always feel like you can question your doctor. I’m thinking about how incredible it is, that even though my tumor was growing, it grew so slowly, that Heidi was able grow up enough to find a way to its end.

And then there were the other things that have happened recently…meeting a woman randomly in front of a hotel near the hospital that had had brain surgery two months before I started radiation, five months after I had my second brain surgery…we met and we talked and that was timely and comforting.

When our car died three weeks before we were going to need it most, we were already resolved to the fact that we might not be able to find the car we wanted before I started radiation. Then I had a dream on a Tuesday, and on the following Saturday a salesman we met for five minutes, two weeks previous, called us to say that he had unexpectedly come into possession of precisely the car we were looking for, were we still looking? We were. This was clairvoyant! The next call we got asking us if we still needed a car, was a week before my radiation treatments were ending. We didn’t need one anymore.

Just when I needed to stay in a place that didn’t have stairs to climb, and was a bit closer to the Proton Center, I lost the keys to the apartment I was staying in and had to stay in a hotel until the locksmith could come and change the locks…these things make me wonder. What is luck? What is timing? What is planned? What isn’t planned? What is the power of positive thinking? What is a miracle?

I cannot stop thinking about the idea that what happens is just as important as what doesn’t happen. I can not stop thinking about how many other things that have happened to me in my life that I haven’t mentioned here seem driven my some other force. What is that?