walk for leukemia

Sunday night. It’s quiet. Cleaning the house has turned towards more interesting endeavours for both of us. David on one computer, I on another. Earlier I put on the new band that I liked, again, and David finally said it’s growing on him. I suggest `every man for himself dinner` which prompts a high ten from David. We eat alone, whatever we want. Every man for himself dinner is a rare occasion, but a hit in our house nonetheless, mostly because we don`t have to think about what to make, don’t have to plan an elaborate meal for two. 



Our elephant joins us. Elephant cookies were handed out
at the walk. Just a weird coincidence.

 Last night was “Light the Night”. We made the trip over to Vancouver to walk with friends and family. In the last two weeks David’s ‘dog named leuk’ team raised $1650 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. As the donations continued to come in I’m not sure we knew what to think. We started wondering if we could make the minimum recommended 100$. We ended completely overwhelmed with support. Thank you, thank you, thank you. To everyone who’s helped us so far. And for David and I, walking with Mom ,Dad, Kertis, Marina, Alexis, Amaia, Blue, Shirley, Ross, Bev and Andy was an honour. The night became so busy I think we forgot about leukemia for awhile, which was good because when David and I arrived early, alone, we were caught up in emotions we try not to get so caught up in most of the time. 



For Shelby and Chad. And everyone.

We spent a moment before the walk… before our team arrived. David writing Shelby and Chad’s names on a wooden heart and placing it in a plant, in memory. We didn’t know them well, but we know they were the same as David. Lives shortened by unforgiving disease. We wish they were still here, beautiful people, this walk is for them.

Leuk tolerated his angel costume like a champ – sorry for the embarrassment Leuk, but everyone seemed to get a kick out of it – and he pulled David through the walk like a mini-truck. Weaving amongst walkers, planting wet Leuk-kisses on babies and trying to launch himself at the occasional low flying balloon. I lost the whole group within seconds attempting to take pictures in impossibly low light, with a broken lens. Catching up, falling behind and running to catch up to our team, fragmented in the crowd.

The walk seemed to be over in an instant. We weaved through Stanley Park, a crystal clear Vancouver twinkling across the water. A parade of illuminated white, red and yellow balloons snaking along the seawall. A beautiful sight, on a gorgeous night.

White for survivors, red supporters and yellow in memory. I wish there were no yellow's and more white's.

More pictures here...

light the night

David and Leuk walk for leukemia

sunday night

Peach vodka from the back of the fridge. Sparkling water and a spash of lime. My favourite band playing in the living room. Helping me forget that it’s Sunday night. Mins sleeping curled into a box of electrical leftovers from the attic pot light installation. Leuk napping outside, his nose pressed against the door. An irobot clean floor. And on the deck, a new doghouse nestled under the kitchen window. Half-clad in beautifully installed cedar shakes. For everyone that thought the day would never come – well, they were wrong - it did. Leuk’s turning one this week J He’ll have a cosy abode for his second winter.

I’m leisurely making dinner, David in the back room. Preparing tomorrow’s lecture, a little reluctantly tonight. As I walk from the living room to the kitchen I pass a letter sitting on the edge of the banister, enveloped and ready for a stamp. I get a little emotional thinking about its contents, knowing that when it finally hits the mailbox reality may be able to find us. In the letter, David releases his personal information. If David’s donor agrees, they will be able to contact one another.

A chance to say thanks. That’s all we want. To say that the difference you made in our lives will never be forgotten.

super hero

Yesterday was one of those days.... All I wanted to do at the end of the day was go home, sit down, play on the computer. Not talk. I was outside throwing a stick for Leuk when David got home, earlier than I was expecting, just a few minutes after me. He had plans of a walk on the beach, dinner out. I said maybe sometimes people just want to stay home instead. He didn’t buy it. We went to the beach.

I was reluctant until we arrived. Pulling into the parking lot and getting out of the car, the ocean air hitting my lungs, drawing me toward the shoreline. It was crisp, cool and everything looked perfect in the fading light. We wandered along the rocky beach, littered with sun bleached driftwood, towering Garry Oak trees winding their way along the shore, outcrops of tiny sedum, David’s favourite, clinging impossibly to the cliffs, their tiny stomata breathing the sea’s air. I took pictures, the dog paddled around and around and around, searching for rocks hidden beneath the water's surface, eating seaweed. David left me to my camera. A good selection of birds to chase from shore to try and capture with my new lens. The last light of the day clinging to the North Shore mountains across the straight.

After, we went to Costco, bought food for the dog and a robot vacuum for us. We had macaroni and cheese casserole for dinner. We watched a new episode of the Office, pvr-ing through the commercials. I told David I was happy now, and that he was my super hero. He smiled, cause he knows that he is.

Thanks for getting me through this day and showing me again, life.

cows

After a rough morning, I found this:
http://www.lightstalking.com/cows
So I feel better now.

vancouver in a day

It’s quiet. It’s 9:00. The automatic sliding doors open and close, open and close as tired passengers float in and silently sit. I’m in the ferry terminal waiting room. Taking the time to write and think about the events of the last twenty-four hours. Where’s the ferry? I thought I would miss it, or it would be really close anyway. Two hours prior, breaking off a conversation with Mike, Damian’s dad, “I really have to go. I have to catch a ferry“. I’m a ferry person. Mike would understand, and if he didn’t, it didn’t matter anyway. I needed to catch the ferry. It was the last of the night. Missing a ferry is like watching your home float away without you. And I didn’t want to be stranded or homeless tonight. Still, I couldn’t completely shake the homeless feeling today, walking around with my toothbrush and an extra pair of underwear in my pocket.

I take a sip of my cafe mocha I got from the coffee shop across the street a few minutes ago. The purchase, really an excuse to waste time. The sweetness of the chocolate hitting first, before the bitterness of the coffee settles in. I savour the first sip. Gulp the second. I had to run for the bus earlier, happy to catch it, transferring effortlessly to the skytrain, delivered downtown in minutes. Without a watch I worried a bit about the time, finally asking someone at the bus stop. Looking up, a second later and noticing a large clock on a tower, towering. It was 8:00, I was cutting it close. If the bus came now, I might make it. The big arm of the tower clock creeps forward, six minutes pass. Finally, a bus. I note as I board the absence of the word EXPRESS. But it does indicate a destination - Horseshoe Bay. I board crossing my fingers that I would arrive in time. Nervous as we weave slowly through a seemingly endless tangle of affluent neighbourhoods in West Vancouver. I was sitting near the front. I overheard the driver say he was early, that it was 8:43. How close were we to Horseshoe Bay? I couldn’t tell. We rounded another corner, and through the trees I saw Horseshoe Bay shining in the distance. Lights from the tiny community glittering smudges reflected off the water. I bought my ticket. What? 9:35 sailing?! That seemed like forever far away. I was tired, I wanted to be home. I thought the ferry was at 9:00, I hadn’t even bothered to check before leaving Damian’s house.

The last twenty-four hours had been busy. Ferry, bus, skytrain, bus. A night out, a concert. A night away, a bed in a room, in a house of memories. The next day, driving. Vancouver-New West-Richmond-Vancouver-New West-Vancouver. Shopping, lunch with Mom. Bus, skytrain, bus, ferry – in reverse.

It’s Damian’s birthday today, and so Damian, Happy Birthday. I’m happy I got to see you for a few minutes. I hope you had a good day, ‘cause I think you deserve it. And also, I’m happy we’re friends and that we never have to talk about pedicures or jewellery – except for maybe the occasional conversation about watches. And that’s all I have to say, because the rest doesn’t seem to fit well into words right now.

I’m on the ferry now as we rumble across the straight in darkness. The tea water in my mug shuddering as we bounce on along the surface of the ocean towards home. It’s only been a day but I miss my David, my Leuk and Mins too of course. Vancouver, a welcome break from the doldrum of Nanaimo, but I look forward to home.

the elephant sleeps

We stayed home. The elephant slept. Actually I locked him in the spare bedroom. But he contently napped. I checked on him.

David spent the weekend in the attic, and by Sunday night, we had light in the kitchen. Glorious beautiful light, from the little pots in the ceiling that had only just recently been holes that let the dry cracking attic darkness filter into the kitchen. We taped them up in the summer to stop the hot gusts of splintered attic air dust from infiltrating down. The old kitchen floor, now illuminated, yellowed linoleum, curling slightly at the edges, begging to be torn out, looks worse than ever before. One step at a time.



I spent most of the weekend on the computer, escaping briefly to capture a few pictures in the morning light. The light dancing as it sparkled off the dew on the plants in the garden outside, me kneeled in the dirt in my pyjamas attempting to get a shot in focus, as close as possible. When I was done, I took my pyjama bottoms off in the basement to prevent tracking dirt though the house, reaching the top of the stairs, bottomless, as David emerged from the bedroom. He glances at me, away, and then back again, looking me up and down. In a slightly inquisitive tone: “What were you doing?”  I respond, “Taking pictures outside.” “Of yourself?” he says. “No, of plants.” “Oh, ok.” And he shuffles past, making a bee line to the coffee maker. He confirms again hours later – “You were wearing pants this morning? Outside?” “Yes,” I say “they got dirty”. “Oh, just checking, we have neighbours you know.” “I know, don’t worry I’m not that crazy girl.” Or at least I don’t think I am.

I promised Leuk a spa day, but didn’t carry through. No bath, no nails clipped. Leuky spa day – deferred . He did bounce around the beach in the rain, oblivious to the pouring rain. Chasing the ball deep into the lake. Alone in his bliss. Me, in mine. He probably liked that more than getting his toenails clipped anyway.

The other highlight. I found, or more accurately, re-found, two pennies. One in my winter jacket, now out of hiding, and one in the washing machine, shiny from its trip around and around and around. I put them both in the bathroom, set into the bottom lip of a picture frame, beside three others. The first in the row, all battered and bent, I found outside the hospital on the day of David’s transplant. I’ve been picking up pennies ever since, although with varying frequency. It’s always an exciting moment, to be walking down a busy street and spot a penny. Stop, bend down, pick it up, feel it in my hand. Look around, why didn’t anyone see this? Why didn’t anyone pick this up? I know the two I found this weekend were from some other time, and place, that I had slipped into my pocket to be remembered at some later date... A bit of luck, re-emerging when least expected.

I didn’t look at pictures from a year ago, I didn’t think about what happened, I didn’t listen to music or watch a video that might remind me. Like I said, the elephant slept. David looks good, he didn’t get my cold, and finally I’ve stopped coughing so we’re not cordoned into separate areas of the house, at least not forcibly.

I told David it was the best weekend ever. And I meant it. I guess that later date is now. Thanks, for the luck, pennies.

the elephant complains

Leukemia had two complaints last week.

One I received at work, in the morning. A phone call. Panic in the elephant’s trunk muffled voice: “I had an episode. I couldn’t see... it just lasted a moment. Everything was white. I’m scared.” This after a recent increase in comments about blurry vision, difficulty seeing.

No elephant eye doctors in Nanaimo. Arranged is an appointment at the VGH eye center. Scheduled for a few weeks from now, that’s good.

The second complaint, also in the morning. I was on my way out the door to work. From the bedroom: “I have stomach cramps. It’s intense. I don’t know if I can get up.”

We had fish and chips from a local greasy spoon for dinner the night before. Turns out the elephant just ate too many fries.

the table

We’re in the truck heading home from White Spot where we go for David’s favourite breakfast – eggs benedict. I have to admit, it’s finally grown on me too and I’ve stopped searching for that great secret breakfast spot in Nanaimo, at least for now. The dog is riding in the box, trying out his truck legs, bracing for the corners like he’s riding a boat on stormy waters. We finally admit he’s getting a bit too big for the cab of the truck. On most recent trips with Leuk ‘up front’ we’ve noticed that he’s adopted a new riding stance, back legs planted in the tiny extended cab, most of his body, his two big front paws, big nose, his long ears wedged between the two front seats, as if he’s positioned himself on an imaginary seat between us. Tongue hanging out and shifting his gaze from David to me to David and back to me, his nose dancing precariously close to the dashboard. The tiniest touch of the brakes sending him careening into the stereo console. He just doesn't tuck behind the seats like he used to.

David pulls out of the White spot parking lot glancing at Leuk in the back through the rear view mirror. David hums and then starts singing “Baby dog, my baby dog.” I smile. He’d picked it up. For weeks I’ve been singing to the dog, to the tune of the Supremes “Baby Love”.  Changing the words to more aptly suit a song about a dog who digs holes and chews chunks of wood off the deck. “You’re singing my song.” “Yeah” he says “You influenced me”. I smile more. 

We weren't actually heading home... we were instead off to search for new tiles, a new table, new light fixtures. A new life? An attempt to fit everything into one day on the one weekend we decide to stay home. Decide not to surf, not to take a ferry. David nearly loses it in the tile store, barely hanging on as we wander with our heads tilted backward examining seemingly endless options dangling just out of reach from the ceiling of the lighting store. I had forgotten how much he hates the selection process. And added to that, my attempt to accomplish everything... what about the hallway, the kitchen, that space downstairs behind the door that we never go, and no one ever sees. The possibilities quickly multiplying faster than I can keep track of. I made a mental note to pick out only two options next time. "For the kitchen. Do you like this one or this one?" Done.

Nevertheless, we made decisions, made it throught the shopping day. My only hesitation, my only ‘bad’ thought of the day came when we found the table. A beautifully solid table, Canadian built, the right size, the right finish, the right feel. We've looked at a lot of tables, but never quite the right one. I loved it immediately, so did David. It would last for years. But my thought, the one I tried to push out of my head, tried to ignore... Who would be sitting around it in years? After the intense chemo and radiation David endured to be alive, it was going to be tough for us to have a family. Did we really need those extra leaves to make it bigger? Or what if my nightmare comes true... Would it be hard for me to move? To sell if David wasn’t there, if I had to leave Nanaimo? I fought hard and pushed the thoughts away, sweeping them into hiding under a dark corner of the carpet of my brain, wondering if David had them too. “Let’s take it” I said. “With two leaves.” We admit we won’t use them much, but David agrees. I asked him later if he was sure, "What if we only have one dinner at it?" "Then it will be the most beautiful dinner in the world" he replies. "That's what I wanted to hear" I say, "I think the same thing too."

so what now?



Huh? What now? food...? ball...?

 It's 9:30, I haven't had dinner. The house is a mess. I haven't unpacked my bag from our last weekend away, or my other bag from the weekend before. I feel like life is slipping by, slipping through my fingers like Tofino beach sand on a hot summer afternoon. It's cooler now. I feel like wearing slippers and curling up on the couch with the computer and the tv. I don't remember anything about last September. Was it nice? How was David? How was I? I know we weren't at home. I think maybe I didn't want to talk to anyone. I think maybe I felt lost. I think maybe I feel a little lost now too. Leuk is snoozing on the couch beside me. He's still wet from the lake, but he looks so comfy I let him stay. He got to go swimming today, I threw the ball for him in the backyard. He's a nice dog. The cat reminds me he exists too as he launches himself at the flat screen chasing a larger than life chicken across all 52 inches. These animals are great. David's sleeping in the spare room. I can't shake my cough and cold and don't want to worry about breathing on him as we share a bed. I wonder a lot these days. I'm not sure what's next. What should life be now? What should I do now? Is there a goal. Is it different than it was a year ago? or two years ago?

Mins reminding us how to lounge, relax and chill.