What, it's a new year?

So I admit, I pushed ‘pause’ on life a few months ago. Woke up briefly for Christmas, then back into hibernation. I’ve decided it’s time to participate again. After all, the days are getting longer, I have a new camera that I should actually use, and honestly, I’m getting sick of watching TV. Well maybe not totally sick of TV, cause that’s impossible.

So what’s new in two months?

The house is still standing, my participation in renos at a standstill. The yard looking just about as yucky as it can, just before spring, like that hour before dawn that seems the darkest and the longest.

David’s doing well these days, apart from some compression fractures in his knees due to the long term effects of being on prednisone. His graft-vs-host has decided to be a little more present these days and his mouth is raw with ulcers again. These small things we live with, because they are small. I consider them annoyances – like I can’t cook spicy food cause it burns too much and I have to watch David limp around. We passed the two year mark of David entering the hospital, and I didn’t even notice. That’s a good thing.

Leuk on the other hand has not been in hibernation. He doesn’t really get why there are less walks in the winter so instead of contemplating he’s gone to work on the back yard. His most recent accomplishment: a well formed tunnel leading under the deck. Doesn’t seem like such a big deal except the previous owners of the house used the back yard as their garbage can and there are many treasures to be found and eaten by a bored dog. He’s also destroyed his warm fluffy cedar infused dog bed. Ate all the fluff, that’s not good. He’s also still working on his den under the cedar trees and the ‘Leuk potholes’ are looking more like trenches. He’s so excited when we get home that he’s taken to luring us outside to show us his accomplishments of the day. Then once he’s found what he wants to show us he bounces. Pretty funny. It’s hard to get mad at a bouncing dog, but he did get in big trouble last week when he tore all the patio lights off and chewed them to pieces.

Anyway, life is happy. And that’s all I can ask for at the beginning of a new year.

sunday photo

BOOL! The End!
Finally finished my latest Stephen King book.



the snow and the moon

 

sunday photo

Holding on.

the first snow

It snowed. Woke up this morning knowing it did. The light was different. Brighter, whiter and the sound, muffled. I sent Leuk straight outside, following in my slippers. He barked at all the fluffy white stuff at first. Then tentatively pawed at it. Then decided he must eat it all, slowly making his way deeper. Something startled him and he ran. And slipped. And then in an instant, fear gone, he figured out that snow is fun. Diving and rolling and chasing and sliding down hills. Suddenly the only thing in the world that mattered was a snow covered dog having the time of his life. Thanks Leuk, you made my day.  

david's donor

Have you ever heard the theory that there’s someone out there like you? Some almost-twin running around in some other part of the world, looking like you, talking like you, sneezing when you do. Well yesterday we came one step closer to finding out who David’s bone marrow twin really is.

Last night:

David came into the bedroom with a piece of paper in his hand. “Babe?” I was half asleep. He was bending over the bed waving the paper at me. “Guess what this is?” He hands me the paper.  He’s excited I can tell... I scan it seeing ‘Bone Marrow Registry’ near the top – this is it. I scan faster... looking for a name, an address, an answer to the question we’ve been asking... Who gave David the stem cells that saved his life? Until now a complete mystery, although we suspected someone from Canada, maybe near Saskatchewan based on the time zone that was on the label of the stem cell bag.

Before I can really comprehend the words he proclaims, “I’m half female!”. I take a look again at the sheet of paper, and yep there it is:

Donor information: 27 year old, female.
Location: Calgary, AB
An email address and a phone number.

I think we were both a little shocked. David about the female part, me about the 27 years. Not that we knew what to expect. Until now David’s donor has been a blurry shadow of a person. An anonymous face lost in a crowd. But now that person is real. Those cells really came from someone, and she’s a girl. And she lives in Calgary. And she has a name and her name is Kathryn.

This morning:

David still cosy in bed as I get ready for work. I’m running a little late. As usual.

David: “I’m think I’m going to change my name.”
Me: No response, because I’m sleepy and trying to get to work on time, and I have no idea what he’s talking about.
David [speaking to no one in particular]: “...David Kathryn”
Me: Still no response, because he kinda sounds serious, and it’s still really early to talk anyway.

As I drive to work, I think about what he said. I know he’s kidding about the middle name of course, but at the same time I think he feels a part of him is shared. That he no longer exists without the DNA of another. I wonder if he ever thinks about the immunosuppressant drugs he takes every day. The drugs he takes to suppress his donor’s immune system, to stop it from attacking him. I wonder if he feels a battle in his body. But I mostly think he’s curious about the person who decided to take the time to register for one match, and to say yes when they got the call about a potential match. He wants to know who belongs to that other part of him. Wants to know who they are. Why they donated. I also think he’s really always secretly wanted a middle name. I’ll have to chat with him about his choice though, at some later date.

At lunch:

I dial David’s phone number.

David: “Hello?”
Me: “Oh...um... Hello?”
David: “Hi.” [He recognizes my voice]
Me: “Uh... Is this David?”
David: “This is David.” [in a more professional, maybe it’s not Cindy voice]
Me: “Oh, you sounded like a girl.”
He pauses – then bursts out in a fun, longer than I was expecting laugh, followed by a giggle.
David: “You think you’re funny”.
Cindy: “Yeah”, I admit. “I do”.

Today was a good day. David taking the half female news well. Even joking with his co-workers about being overly emotional once a month - which apparently resulted in an eruption of laughter. If anyone's comfortable being a 27 year old female, it's David. I ask him more seriously if he’s okay. He says yeah, but his eyes tell me he still needs some time to let it sink in.

It’s hard to really believe that there are two people so genetically similar that their blood can run through each other’s veins. And when stem cells from one are transfused into the other, they grow and make blood and develop a new immune system. And then that immune system can kill off all the little leukemia cells and we all live happily ever after. Yeah, this is crazy stuff. The stuff dreams are made of. Our dreams anyway.

So Kathryn from Alberta, I’m happy today that you have a name, and that you’ve decided to share that with David. And it’s nice to know that the image of David's donor that used to look so fuzzy, like a ghost with undefined edges is getting a little clearer. I wonder if you know that David would have died without you. I wonder if you know that there’s no way I can thank you, that what you gave us is so much more than stem cells. Time and love and dreams and hope and smiles and laughter. A way of looking at life and all the amazing and beautiful things in it that I wouldn't trade for the world.

Finally, I wonder if it's true, the sneezing part.

sunday photo



The ginkgo finally gives up on summer.



why surfing

Surfing is about the best thing in the world. Not because I’m any good at it, but because it involves a beach, waves and freedom from everything I worry about. There just aren’t words to describe the feeling of floating in the cold Pacific, rain pelting, wind blowing, in complete peace. Getting there involves a drive I love, being there involves a connection to nature that I haven’t found anywhere else.

After, muscles tired, feeling happily sleepy, we often stop for something – a coffee, hot chocolate, a treat from the bakery, soup, a wrap, and on especially special days, fish tacos – such pleasures only adding to the surf experience. In the summer we camp, in the winter we rent. I love both.

Often on these weekends away I wake up early, go for a walk as everyone sleeps, capturing a little piece of paradise that few others see. The air's always a bit stiller, the ocean a bit slower, the early light playing a little differently off the waves and the trees, Leuk and I alone. Sometimes I take picutres, sometimes I just walk. This morning I started off in the pouring rain, under the arc of a rainbow, camera tucked under a corner of my jacket to keep it dry, outwalking the rain, stealing a few picutres of the clouds, the lighthouse, the rocky shore, and returning to a sleepy house with a sandy dog.

Weekends like this are my favourites. Stormy weather, the tourists have all gone home. A few glimpsing moments of sun through the clouds. Pant-legs soaked from walking in the rain, dripping gore-tex, puddles deep with mud, a dog that finds them all to run through. Big, fun surf. David and friends to share it with.

Two great days. I feel very lucky.

The on the other hand cat's seems a little pissed off that he was left alone again for a weekend... but he'll get over it. He took a good swipe at the dog as he passed by, but Leuk trudged on in ignorance, headed to his chair to curl up for a good after-beach snooze and snore. I think we're all tired. But it's a good tired.

sunday photo

Window to the sky, Ukey Lighthouse

the tumblefur ball

I feel that I am perpetually covered in fur. It sticks to my clothes, settles onto the dash of the car, integrates itself into any fabric surface, is stuck to my socks, always ends up in food. When I sit down at my computer at work it is static clung to the monitor and lines the back of my chair. It doesn’t matter if I vacuum, because even when I’m done a fresh new ball of tumblefur dances across the floor out from wherever it was hiding, picking up speed and more fur like an out of control snowball down a slope. We take turns before we leave the house using a sticky roller to remove as much fur as possible from our clothes, which incidentally, come out of the dryer, still covered in fur, only to arrive at our destination, re-covered. I just don’t understand how that happens. A big white furry tumblefur ball follows us everywhere!

I love my two fluffy beasts, but this is getting ridiculous.

*update* Sent randomly from a friend this morning - a link to a new pet vacuum gadget... maybe he noticed my black shirt covered in white fur? Anyway, apparently this is how it happens: