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by maribeth
4 comments
I’m Thinking of You
I’ve never been so consumed with thinking about people. I’m not dwelling or ruminating or obsessing about others. I’m visiting with folks. I’m spending time with my closest loved ones as much as I’m guarding the safety of those tight-knit families living in their one-room hovels in the slums of Islamabad. I’m hanging with my boyfriend who’s been working 12-hour days to keep the hotel he manages afloat and I’m rushing through the halls of a busy ICU with over-worked medical professionals. I’m sitting with the families that are grieving the loss of their loved ones while maintaining social distancing and I’m riding with that trucker who’s bravely making his way across the country to deliver goods without even being able to sit down at a truck stop to enjoy a good meal. I’m in the kitchen with that family that’s trying to figure out a new way of living, juggling working remotely with homeschooling and this new concentrated version of togetherness. I’m looking over the shoulder of that grocery store clerk who’s stocking shelves for a small wage so that we can continue to fill our refrigerators and pantries. I’m with that person fighting for his or her life on a respirator in the hospital. Indeed, it feels like I’m everywhere these days–at least in my thoughts.
Yet, I am all alone–at least from a physical standpoint. I was very sick for quite a while with presumably some kind of a Telluride crud that I picked up on the mountain while teaching skiing the first week of spring break. (I had a COVID-19 swab test, self isolated for over two weeks and then found out it was negative. It took ten days for the results to come back but even if I had found out that I was coronavirus free sooner, it was best not to be out spreading germs.) During this time, I saw a couple of friends who came by to drop off provisions for me, safely separated by the glass door of my foyer. My guy came by with care packages as well but as hard as it was, we maintained a good ten feet between us, knowing that had there been any less distance we would have been more tempted to fall into each other’s arms. And then once I received my test report, I was thrilled to carefully venture out to the store, the pharmacy and a couple of other necessary places on my list. (Thankfully liquor stores are considered essential businesses here in Colorado.)
Like many people throughout the rest of the world, I’ve been doing this for over a month. I’m not at all bored though. I have my reading and writing, cooking, cleaning and house projects, lots of radio programming (I don’t have a TV) and now that I’m better, I enjoy doing an occasional walk in the countryside surrounding my house. Plus, I have all of you. Really. I’ve never felt so connected to the rest of the world in all my life. All kinds of people, including old college friends, old boyfriends, my ex husband, friends in France, and so many more from the cast of characters that have played a role in the movie that is my life have filled my thoughts and dreams. Prince Charles even appeared in one of my nighttime productions last week! We were eating potato chips together sans gin and tonic unfortunately. I sleep as deeply as a Rocky Mountain bear during the month of January and wake up exhausted, perhaps because of all the visiting I do during the night. In pondering the symbolism behind these dreams, I’ve come to the conclusion that the night is just a continuation of how my brain has been functioning throughout my waking hours: thousands of loved ones and total strangers pop into my head over the course of the day and with each flash, I’m wondering consciously or unconsciously how they are doing. Best of all, I feel myself sending them strength and love.
The expression “my thoughts and prayers are with you” has gotten a bad rap. Honestly. I believe in the power of thoughts and prayers more so than ever. And I feel like I’m working overtime these days to stay emotionally connected with everyone in this world, particularly those in need. We have all discovered the meaning of “we are one” throughout this worldwide pandemic. I feel for the people of Italy as their death toll reaches inconceivable numbers. I’m experiencing the horror and sadness that New Yorkers feel upon seeing the refrigerated trucks line up outside their hospitals for the storage of the dead. I’m fluffing up the pillow for that medic sleeping in his car. I’m feeling the excitement of that oh-so creative person that has turned her 3-D printer into a face mask-making machine.
Everyday I find myself having a good cry. I’m not at all depressed. I’m just full of empathy and compassion and although it can be tiresome, shedding tears is a wonderful release both physically, emotionally and mentally.
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by maribeth
16 comments
A Cancer Journey of Heartbreak, Love, Resilience and Hope
On Wednesday January 3rd, just as I was rolling off the couch from having been exhausted up to my teeth from the big Christmas rush on the mountain, I learned some news from my brother, David, that has forever changed our lives.
I knew he was feeling sick since December 12th but I was so busy working as a ski instructor in Telluride at our peak time, that I couldn’t make any solid offers of assistance until the big holiday push had passed. I then suggested to drive up to Aspen and take care of him, do some cooking and shopping and provide whatever assistance I could to help him get back on his feet. Little did I know how serious it was. Little did I know what was brewing inside of him would be the dreaded “big C.”
Pay attention: This is how quickly cancer can take hold and how important it is to mobilize yourself to figure it out. It is happening to so many people that we all have to have some measure of preparation and most of all, a keen awareness that doctors can’t always get it right. I hope that my story will provide that for you. This is also a tale of how people respond to a cancer diagnosis: some show up big time to help while others use it as an opportunity to further their own agendas.
Here’s my texting exchange with my brother from that day.
Dave:
B …that is a very generous offer, but I think I will continue to be able to manage. If I was really in need, I would gracious ly accept. Take advantage of your time off to get rested and take care of your own accumulated work load😊
Me:
OK, keep it in mind. Maybe we should find out if you’re contagious first. But know that aside from a 5-hour drive, I could easily drop in to provide some assistance. Please let me know how it goes at the doctor’s today!
Dave:
Will do
B…still at the throat Dr…not good news…he thinks I have cancer and wants to do a biopsy Friday…so if your offer still holds to come up, I will graciously accept…fill mom in so I can save a step
Of course I left for Aspen the next day. I stayed ten days that first trip, came back to Telluride to work and regroup twice for a few days, then headed out again, first on a one-week and then on a two-week trip, crisscrossing our vast state of Colorado to see doctors and accompany David to medical procedures in Glenwood Springs, Grand Junction and Denver. For over a month, I assumed the role of my brother’s health advocate. The fact that he wasn’t able to talk very well underscored my role; I became his voice both literally and figuratively. I became a velvet pit bull of sorts sweet-talking our way into hard-to-obtain doctor’s appointments, asking question after question about the diagnosis, treatments and cure rates as I gathered information from every imaginable source including the many pamphlets handed out to us at the hospitals, my note taking and recordings of every doctor’s appointment, the internet, friends in and out of the medical profession, total strangers that had been through similar experiences–it all was important in attempting to make sense of my brother David’s Stage 4A diagnosis of laryngeal cancer.