Took Off My Watch and Found...Post #8

Frank's watch broke the day he retired. He considered it a sign and isn't buying a new one. I've never known Frank without a watch - not even taking it off when he slept. I love the attitude but being a writer I have deadlines, I told him. Then I thought about it. If he's not in tune to time, then my preferred schedule of writing, which is anytime, won't conflict with him. This could work. Last night I said I'd cook him his special retirement dinner (stalled because of the move) this weekend. He gave me such a blank look - why wait for a weekend? He had a good point.

A dusting remains

We got snow last night. I'm so glad we'll get a little here. I'd miss not seeing the flakes fall from the sky now and then. On my way to the post office, I watched it come in over the mountains - low hanging clouds kissed the tops of the peaks leaving them white.

Last night the snow came

Speaking of the post office, I let them know our box was up and took the hold off. We've lived in two countries, six states and twenty-six homes and never had to put up our own mailbox. This was Frank's observation since he's the one that took on the task.

I read something funny yesterday. There is a virus people get when they buy a new home - they go partially blind. This accounts for not seeing all of the spots on the carpet, not realizing the cabinets were only faced with oak and thinking we'd have plenty of cupboard space. Lance and Christie have yet to move in with their stuff and I'm not sure where it will all go. But then Lance and Christie are not collectors of "stuff" so maybe we'll be okay. Lance has the mindset I possessed while pregnant with him and I lost for several years. I'm getting back to that belief. We're still dumping "stuff" as we unpack. And I'm waiting to see what other things I missed during my viral blindness.

The view on the way to Jerome

Frank and Rusty on the patio of a cafe

Bruce on the road overlooking the road below

While Bruce was with us, we decided to take one day and not unpack. He'd been so helpful and so nice to drive out here with Frank, he deserved a break. Plus he figured out how to use a curtain rod that I'd bought the wrong size. We drove up to Jerome. He was rightfully awed. And I'm thrilled it's so close. Didn't realize how close it is. Jerome is an old mining town; an inhabited ghost town built on the side of the mountain. The road up is switchback heaven and kind of scary. Bruce is now determined to come out, with Beth, in a few months with his motorcycle. We'll do a ride and go up the scary side one more time. Frank and I did it a few years ago. Fun but a bit scary.

Ate at the Mile High Grill

Short cut between streets

In the ongoing effort to cut expenses and live on Social Security, we cut our cell minutes. We had to switch to Verizon because they are the only ones with reception out here. Sprint was going to hit me with a $120 contract cancellation fee but after a lengthy "discussion" and a transfer into accounting, they determined if I could fax them a copy of my driver's license to prove I really had moved to an area without coverage, they would wave the penalty. Then after nearly two hours at the Verizon office in Prescott Valley (the office in Chino is too small to handle the switch over), we had cell coverage again. Only I can't figure out how to work the phone yet. So...we're down to 450 minutes between us but we have a land line again with unlimited long distance. Grouping the cell, land line, Internet and satellite TV under Century, we save money and pay less than before. AND I'm really happy to know that our two close couple-friends in MN and my longtime friend in NM all have Verizon so we can talk and talk - that is if I were a phone person, which I'm not but at least if they call me I won't get nervous over using the minutes.

Today I make the trip down to Phoenix to go to the Indian Hospital. I dropped my medical insurance because of the exorbitant cost, but thank goodness I'm American Indian. I'll explain in another post.

Are You Ever So Happy You Cry?

I have something to get off my mind. I spend my days writing fiction, but right now I'd like to write something real that happened to me.

So...are you ever so happy you cry? I did just today. I've gone through a scary time, and I don't mean the Halloween kind of scary. Last month, the pathology from a mole on my arm came back positive for melanoma. And the doctor added to that lovely piece of news, that it was in the second layer of skin which causes additional concern. I discovered how I react to this kind of news. Don't we all ask ourselves "how would I react"? Thankful I wasn't alone when I got this news, I collapsed in a crying fit of fear huddled in my husband's arms.  I stayed there for most of the next couple of days. I spent a great deal of time on the telephone during those days, too - family, dermatologist, oncologist, surgeon and ophthalmologist. That last one puzzled me. Did you know you can have moles on the backside of your eyes? The overall doctor speak I got was my original biopsy pointed to a good resolution, but to be sure they needed to remove more of my arm and a lymph node.

As positive as I tried to stay, I still broke down in fearful tears at any given time during the day. I told as few people as I could. It seemed the fewer who knew, the less real my cancer. And I didn't want to talk about it anymore than I had to. I'm no good at nurse-maiding others (ask my poor husband), and I certainly didn't relish that role for myself. I made all the appointments with the various doctors and went on a holding pattern for the surgery. At times I was angry with myself for being so scared. But try as I might, no matter how many times I told myself - "I'll be okay, I"ll be okay" - dread would wash over me and I'd cry.

One evening, a few days before my surgery, I was staring at the television in an attempt to forget for awhile, and a calmness starting somewhere in the vicinity of my head settled in me and spread like a warm elixir throughout my body. I would be okay. No matter what the results of the surgery, I would be okay. I don't know where the feeling came from or why, but it was damn near euphoric. I felt near elated for the next twenty four hours. As the surgery grew closer and for the four days after waiting for the results, I was anxious. As much as I felt I'd be okay, I needed to hear it from the doctor. And I did. They found nothing else.

And so I cried off and on all that day with tears of relief. That was three days ago. Today, out of the blue, I cried again. This time with joy. I've had several friends and family members succumb to cancer in the last few years. The C word is very scary. I never used it for myself. I always said melanoma. Just didn't sound as scary as cancer. Melanoma has an 86% cure rate. I'm very happy to be in the 86%.

This whole episode started with a routine dermatology visit. Having been raised in Arizona with all that sun, I like to have my skin checked every couple of years. My word of advice for the day - you do the same. If there is something to find, find it early.