So now what?

Surgery was Friday. I had been crying Thursday night because I was worked up and scared, so my eyes were quick to tear. The surgeon instantly noticed and I admitted I was scared. "You don't need to be scared," he said in the least reassuring but most confident way. I knew that it was routine to him and needed to be, but it's hard to submit yourself to that kind of stuff. Just to go from person to patient is kind of a journey.

When I woke up (and truly, that's what anesthesia is like - I fell asleep, then I woke up), I could tell I had been crying more. I dread to consider what I must have seemed like to them. I had a big bandage on my neck, which Richard exclaimed was "really small!". I had a nice corner room at the hospital, right over the ambulance bay. One nurse made me walk around the floor once. The other brought me graham crackers and peanut butter to take with my pain killers. I watched a lot of crappy TV, paced around in my room. Ordered some not-bad-for-the-hospital food and ate it. Waited and waited and waited for the surgeon's partner to stop by and discharge me, and then he even offered to keep me another day. I went home.

But since I've been home, I read a whole book (a first for quite a while!), pieced together most of my afghan, laid out some jewelry, deadheaded the garden. I've talked to the office a couple of times, listened to a mix CD that Tom and Becky made for me, and watched some more crappy TV (those darn Housewives!). I'm probably not really ready to go back to work, but I'm looking bored in the eye and saying, NOT ON MY VACATION, buddy.

The scar is, so far, pretty small. Today you can kind of see the yellow bruise around my clavicle. There are 3 little steri strips holding the wound. My hands tingle when they perceive a calcium deficiency, which is frequently. Sometimes I feel like my heart might be racing, but I think that's pain.

It is exciting from the larger perspective to consider that they took out the cancer. It's gone.

Won't get fooled again.

Well, naturally, that is a lie. And it relates not at all to the song, but now that you're here, allow me to whine that I've missed several apparently lucrative blog topics, so I'm not letting this one go.

For example, if you were once the editor of a fancy home decor magazine, the New York Times might publish an excerpt from your book (!!!) about having your job eliminated and feeling kind of disconnected. Oh. I did that LAST summer. Although, my job title was a little less exalted and maybe a little imaginary, and the NYT did not publish anything by me, I also felt some ennui.

Previous to that I had this great idea that I would keep track of my experiences cooking every recipe in a cool cookbook. I know, Better Homes and Gardens! That will be bland but I'll know how to make green goddess dressing eventually, right? Oh. It's been done? Darn.

So, now that I'VE GOT CANCER, I'm not letting it go. (I'm actually having it surgically removed, but I digress.) Yeah, I said cancer. Thyroid cancer. Oh sure, it's the most curable cancer that has the highest survival rate. But I've got it! And that's the point of blogging, right? Me me me.

I'm being a little sarcastic, I admit. Because I am scared. What if it has spread? What if I lose my voice? What if I gain 30 lbs? What if my thyroid was ME, and I'm not myself anymore?

Someone actually said that to me today at work, that I would not feel like myself. I nearly burst into tears. When I think about it, it's a little ridiculous. I read Eckert Tolle, I know the body is not the ego is not the soul etc, etc. But, realistically, if the body is feeling sluggish, it could make the mind more melancholy. A lot of the things that I think are "me" are body related - I love to do things that I'm good at over and over, and if I'm not "in practice" then I won't feel good at them. You know, things like running and belly dancing. These seem like especially important skills to me because I'm fairly new at them, and I don't want to lose much of the headway I've made.

So really, it will be an excellent test of being in the now, Eckert. Because right now, my throat is a little sore, so I'm about to eat a dish of ice cream. If it still hurts tomorrow, I will call a doctor or two. I suppose if they don't think it's a good idea to have surgery on Friday, I can post-pone it. Oh well. See? It's okay to have a dish of ice cream right now.

And, it's just a handy gland. Lots of other people don't have one for a lot of reasons, and look and feel fine. We can do it. We being my mind, my ego, my legs, and me.

Oops, I got a job, and I've been too busy to blog?

But! This means I can write about other things than finding a job. And I'm doing 1,000 other things now, as well as the job. I mean, really, who wouldn't rather think about fashion, or photography, or music or belly dancing or running or gardening or anything but job searching?

It is also kind of sad how much happier I am working in an office, with office clothes. Is that really all it is/was? I mean, my hatred of the gardening overalls was intense, but I grew to respect the utility after some time. Still, I have much more respect for myself when wearing office clothing. It's just the way I'm motivated.

As a bonus, I still get to garden as a hobby. And volunteer, which I prefer! They've asked me to design another garden at Mount Olivet Cemetary, which I'm very excited about. In fact, I need to look up some evergreens for my perceived plan. Everyone loves evergreens in a garden, especially in the cemetary! Weeping might be a bit much, however.

My 2009 goals are to run and train for the Borgess 5k, and perform with a belly dance group. All of those should be doable. Watch me.

More smashing.

Saturday, I smashed my bike helmet. It shouldn't have been that easy to do, is one excuse. I was just frustrated by the difficulty of the trail, and how hot I was on a perfectly cool day, and meant to just toss it a little and pick it up. The plastic over the foam immediately popped off (apparently just held on with a sticker!!!) and it all fell in a patch of poison ivy, ironically. I carried it until I found a trash barrell, which was another 4 miles up.

Richard had gone ahead and didn't really pay much attention to my tantrum until we stopped and talked about it. It's rare for me to be angry, really. I can't decide if it's more helpful to feel the negative emotions, or to brainwash myself with the usual positive statements. But yeah, I'm pissed, I suppose. I'm frustrated. I also know, it'll happen when it's supposed to happen.

I'll just keep pedaling for that smiley face in the clouds. There really was one. I didn't even try to take a picture, because I knew it was only visible because that's what I was looking for.

It's like running in a circle.

I tried to apply for some more jobs last night. Same effect as before! Too chicken to hit the "Apply" button. But chicken isn't really the problem. Part of it is a fear of success, that I will actually have to go out and meet some people and go back inside.

This is not to say there aren't some applications out there, simmering. I haven't heard back yet, which seems like a good thing. Many of the other jobs I have applied for got back to me in less than 24 hours with rejections.

Today I'll have to call the old hospital, because I have to beef up my resume for federal jobs. They want MONTH and year, and I sure can't remember that much detail, along with salary, which I certainly don't remember. I watched a little video on the OPM (Office of Personnell Management) website last night, and the tiny federal man and his captions are correct - I will need to put some work into it, and therefore will get out of it what I put in.

In the mean time, we got a kitten (Mr. Sam Awesome!) but my father's long-time companion ("love of his life", he said) died. I'm ready for 2009 to turn around.

Breakfast of smiles.

Breakfast of smiles., originally uploaded by wizzybit.

Time to get back on track again. It's so easy to space out and just eat everything in sight, and still want more. So I've been trying to make more food at home, because it is generally tastier. And presumably healthier.

The gardening is hard work and hard on my body, and I want to be able to reap some sort of benefit from it. You know, weight loss. Sorry. Girl brain. But I am proud of myself for the progress I've made. I'm not afraid of snakes. I'm not afraid of bugs. I can lift a big rototiller into a truck with help. I can work for 10 hours and still do things in the evening.

I might be ready for an office job, though. I saw one sentence (in a magazine at the yoga studio, waiting for belly dance class to begin) that sums it all up. You are who you are, not what you "do".

Manual labor = good times?

Manual labor = good times?, originally uploaded by wizzybit.

I've been thinking about the "shame" of not having a knowledge worker position at this time, when the New York Times published this article (http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/24/magazine/24labor-t.html) in the Magazine last Sunday. Although my job isn't quite as cool as fixing vintage motorcycles, I do feel pretty much the same way. It's hard to look for a "straight" job right now, because I don't even want to do it.

But I'm turning around. Janel said I was a pessimist today. I've never wanted to be seen that way, so it's time to get in gear and be the optimistic idiot that I really am. Why wouldn't I be able to make a living gardening? There's as much work as there is time and space. What was I going to do with more stuff? I love to travel! Money is for eating. There is no such thing as security, anyway.