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On May 24th, we learned that Rob has bladder cancer. Ohmygod, do I ever wish we could just fricking ignore that damn diagnosis. After all, they scraped away lots of the derelict cells in order to complete the pathology report, so now three weeks later, Rob feels well again. He’s jogging and planting flowers. Last night we overheard a little girl exclaim as she walked by our house, “This house gardens good. I like it. It’s beautiful!” Me too. I especially like the gardener himself. He’s flat-gorgeous and he seems well here-and-now. What a nice honeymoon stretch for us. Why can’t we simply continue loving each other this way?

Because we know better. He has precariously-situated high-grade tumors in his bladder. They have at least penetrated the second layer, the lamina propria. When one hears “mucosa” associated with their bladder cancer—after hours of research at least—they heave a sigh of relief. We certainly have. There’s no firm indication that the cancer has reached the muscular layer. And there are no “mets” (shorthand for metastases, who knew?) that we know of. But the possibility looms…

Back. Away. Fear!

You do not belong here. It’s time to get after this c-devil! Enough research, for heaven’s sake. Rob has decided. Thank God. I agree whole-heartedly. Thank God.

But first the steps: Besides the research, it’s been helpful to talk directly with others and their loved ones who have survived bladder cancer. Their candor is a gift beyond description. Then we met with another urologist for a second opinion.

While Rob is the scientist between us and has learned bucket loads about our urinary tracks in a few short weeks, Intuitive Me has watched for confirmation. When Rob met (spoiler alert) his surgeon—the experienced doctor who performs one percent of bladder surgeries in the US each year,–one of the first things he said to me after the appointment was, “Dan would like that guy.” Ok, this is a longer story, suffice it to say (whether Rob would admit it or not), he goes to older brother/cardiac surgeon/dead-almost-30-years-now Dan, for advice. For me this statement is right up there with, “Hey, I plan to live 20 more years, like my parents did. Seems like this is the best way to do that with the least amount of overall pain.”

But I digress…

My Brave Rob Reid has decided to have his bladder removed. Another confirmation of this decision came when I was waiting impatiently, but bless-pat silently for a change, on the porch while he was inside wading through a long series of phone calls to schedule the operation. He broke into my wild reverie with two words, “July 19th,” and I felt a wash, like warm wine, flood my body. This would be O-Day for us. The operation is scheduled. Even now, it is hard for me to imagine women who suffer through their husbands’ heart attacks with no warning, then wait through a day-long operation before settling back into life with their repaired half. THAT really takes my breath away! I feel phenomenally grateful that we have this time to prepare, especially while he feels relatively well.

People have asked, “Really, they can take out his bladder, give him a new one and he’ll be ‘good-to-go’ so to speak?” (Ar, ar, ar)

Here’s my current answer to that: “Yes, you can live without your bladder. Check out the internet where you’ll find all the options. Personally, I think your question is a bit like asking a woman flat out if she’s had a hysterectomy or a man if he’s circumcised or not. Or maybe like asking them to explain their particular bathroom habits.”

You can ask Rob for those details if you really want to know. He’s more analytical about the whole thing anyway and ready to explain until your eyes glaze over.

Basically, he’s choosing the best way to save his life rather than only his bladder. Whether his gladder bladder is inside or outside, made of his small intestines or of plastic, connected to the outside through his penis or a rosette (how’s that nickname for a stoma?; that would tempt a gardener, I bet….a religious person like me too) near his belly button.

We’re talking Life here, people. Does it really matter what the final apparatus is after suffering through eight hours of major surgery, seven days in the hospital (Overlake for local readers) plus six weeks of recovery at home?

Hey, he even has a good chance to duck classic cancer chemotherapy this way. And run again every other day for many years, like he’s done for the forty years I’ve known him. After all, this is one cancer the medical community calls “curative” (whatever that means…looks like we’ll find out).

So that’s how Mister Courageous (with his Chief Caregiver) is choosing to face this hiccup…ok ok, we’ll give this one major burp status. What they call “aggressive” cancer deserves what they call a “radical” cystectomy.

Stand back.

Aggressive, meet Radical.

Here we come!

 

Este es mi último ensayo de mi año sabático. Con tal de que hayan redactores buenos como mis profesores geniales, escribiré en mi blog. Ustedes saben quienes son: Inma, Rocío, Lyda, Tania, Carlos, Vanesa, Eugenio, Blanquita y ahora, Kallie. Mientras que los otros alumnos escriben sobre sus sueños de viajes futuros, estoy agradecida por tener permiso de mi profesora actual para reflejar sobre mis viajes recientes.

Si hubiera ido a Nicaragua por tres meses en total, ahora habría hablado mejor español. Pero si no hubieran cambiado mis planes originales, no habría surfeado en el océano ni habría explorado los Andes. No habría conocido a las familias hermosas de Erick e Ines en Costa Rica ni a Amalia y Eduardo o Angeles en Ecuador. Rob y yo no habríamos disfrutado un crucero por el Caribe en febrero. No habría estudiado el dibujo con el artista Cubano, Noel Suarez.

Por supuesto si tuviera dinero, tiempo y no compromisos aquí, iría a Matagalpa, Nicaragua mañana. Si alguien en el mundo festejara mi progreso en español, serían Marlene y mi familia nicaragüense. Nosotros charlaríamos y nos reiríamos. Todo mi trabajo valdría la pena.

Primero, debo terminar Español 203. Hace un año, mi meta fue convertirme en una estudiante de español de nivel intermedio al nivel avanzado. Es tan difícil en la mediana edad con una vida rica y ocupada como la mía. Además, el disco duro de mi memoria está casi lleno. Gracias a Dios, mucha gente me anima frecuentemente. En mis clases de la universidad, hay estudiantes jóvenes que han estudiado Español AP en la escuela secundaria. Algunos tienen parientes hispanohablantes. A veces, cuando oigo sus acentos perfectos y gramática con fluidez, estoy desanimada. Pero normalmente, su energía e inteligencia son caraterísticas para brindar. No puedo creer lo afortunada que soy.

Hoy mientras escribo este borrador, hemos empezado la octava semana de clases. Si termino la tarea, una composición más, dos examenes y asisto diariamente, voy a completar las clases del nivel intermedio. Ségun el horario de la universidad, el nivel próximo (301) es avanzado. Voy a jadear para acabar la clase. Pero siempre que respire y lo tome paso a paso, será posible.

Aunque mi español conversacional aún no es fluido, ha mejorado. Tengo muchos sueños para usarlo en casa y en el extranjero. Y para cuando publique esto, habré competado la lista de tareas y la clase habrá terminado. İSalud!

 

 

 

 

(English translation follows.)

Si hubiera heredado una gran fortuna antes de casarme con mi esposo Rob, habría cambiado nuestra decisión de ir a Nepal. Después de todo, lo conocí en una clase de alpinismo. Si mis cuñados (su hermano y esposa) no nos hubieran invitado de Everest, no habría tenido este arrepentimiento. La verdad, si hubiera tenido mi propio dinero, habría dicho, “Sí, sí y gracias.”

El viernes pasado, Rob tuvo una cirugía de su vejiga. Si no hubiera sido el diagnóstico de cáncer, no habría examinado mi vida. Pero, ahora reflejo y escribo sobre eso. Después el diagnóstico, ha sido como una carrera vertiginosa, con gritos grandes en mi mente. También, me siento alivida porque, en realidad, si hubiera tenido más dinero, no habría vivido de otra manera.

Por supuesto espero que Rob se mejore pronto. Gracias a Dios, hay buenas expectativas para su recuperación. Aún así va a ser un camino duro, vale la pena.

 

My Only Regret

If I had inherited a large fortune before marrying my husband Rob, it would have changed our decision about going to Nepal. After all, I met him in a mountaineering class. If my in-laws (his brother and wife) had not invited us to Everest, I would not have had this regret. The truth is, if I had had my own money, I would have said, “Yes, yes and thank you.”

Last Friday, Rob had surgery on his bladder. If he had not been diagnosed with cancer, I would not be examining my life. But, now I am reflecting and writing about it. After the diagnosis, it’s been like a dizzying race, with big screams in my mind. Also, I feel relieved because actually, if I had had more money, I would not have lived differently.

Of course, I expect Rob will get better soon. Thank God there are good expectations for his recovery. Even if it will be a hard road, it’s worth it.

 

 

(English translation follows.)

He regresado a mi casa cómoda en los Estados Unidos. Cada día, me pregunto que pasó durante mis viajes y que será el próximo paso para mí. Entonces, mi tarea para SPAN 203 es escribir sobre un asunto del medio ambiente. Eso puedo hacer, especialmente si no es forzado. Las preguntas mayores pueden esperar.

Cuando una persona es una testiga de las Islas Galápagos como yo, por supuesto ya no puedo argumentar contra el medio ambiente. No podría vivir con mí misma.

En cuanto miré los animales salvajes comer muy cerca de mí, incluso alimentar sus pequeños, mi corazón cambió y mi resolución (para hacer la cosa correcta) se hizo más fuerte. Estaba como si los animales no tuvieran miedo. Aunque esto sea un acto diario, también es una de nuestras actividades más vulnerables. Ellos confiaban en mí tanto que dejaban su vigilancia y comían. Cuando lo recuerdo ahora, estoy llena de calor y bienestar. Aunque este lobo marino joven en la foto es del mismo tamaño de su mamá, y un poco raro por eso, el punto principal es que su mamá le deja comer al a lado mío. Ella confió en mí.

Soy una mujer afortunada. He visto una web de existencia pacífica. Yo sé que la paz entre los seres es posible.

¿Hay voluntad política para proteger el medio ambiente? Tal vez sí o tal vez no. Pero, según Martin Luther King Jr., “El arco del universo moral es largo, pero se inclina hacia la justicia.” Esto sugiere aun el medio ambiente estará bien.

Cuando alguien me pida, “¿Qué harás por esta paz ambiental?”, abogaré por el medio ambiente. Será un placer porque actuaré sin miedo sea lo que sea.

 

As If There Was No Fear

I have returned to my comfortable home in the United States. Every day, I wonder what happened during my travels and what will be the next step for me. So, my task for SPAN 203 is to write about an environmental issue. I can do that, especially if it’s not contrived. The biggest questions can wait.

When a person witnesses the Galapagos Islands like I did, of course I can no longer argue against the environment. I could not live with myself.

As soon as I saw wild animals eat very close to me, even feed their little ones, my heart changed and my resolution (to do the right thing) became stronger. It was as if the animals were not afraid. Although this is a daily act, it is also one of our most vulnerable activities. They trusted me so much that they let go of their vigilance and ate. When I remember it now, I am full of warmth and well-being. Although this young sea lion in the photo is the same size as his mother, and a little weird for that, the main point is that his mother lets him eat next to me. She trusted me.

I am a lucky woman. I have seen a web of peaceful existence. I know that peace between beings is possible.

Is there political will to protect the environment? Maybe yes or maybe no. But, according to Martin Luther King Jr., “The arc of the moral universe is long, but it leans toward justice.” This suggests even the environment will be fine.

When someone asks me, “What will you do for this environmental peace?”, I will advocate for the environment. It will be a pleasure because I will act without fear whatever may be.

Half my lifetime ago, we had an Amway business, of all things. That’s when I first narrowed in on the Galapagos Islands as my dream destination. Thirty years later, I cashed in under the guise of studying Spanish. In my mind, these mythic isles off the coast of Ecuador had become much more than, and unlike, any place I’d ever known. I expected to find surreal shining wilderness gems in the middle of the Pacific.

Instead, the 2019 Galapagos are more like islands anywhere:  tourist playgrounds that have trees, plants, coast-lines, sun and surf. Thirty-thousand people make their homes in the archipelago, as well as many more animals.

The grand and obvious difference between these islands and others is that all creatures live side-by-side, relatively respectfully of one another. This subtle reality grew on me over the short week I was there. I cannot over-emphasize the sense of hope this has instilled in me.

To illustrate, the morning before I left my hotel on Santa Cruz Island to head back to my country, I was perched outside my second floor room journaling. I glanced over at the tall cactus, about three meters in front of me, and noticed a pair of endemic Darwin finches perched in a crotch.

“Nice photo,” I thought, as the non-descript grayish female flew away.

Then before my eyes, a simple-looking small black bird—the male—began building a nest for his family. Over and over again, he swept in with tiny branches and puffs of white fluff. He painstakingly arranged a home out of air and natural materials. I was captivated.

I was also thrilled the next morning that his work continued. Now there was an impressive screen and a slight depth to the construction. Progress had been made. As I watched, and in front of God’s eyes (and mine too), the heretofore silent bird began singing, seemingly a tune of joy and pride. Perhaps the work was almost done. I realized soon enough that he was calling his woman home, because she appeared nearby and flew in, presumably to inspect.

I was doing what scientists do—watching for long, still moments, then recording, one moment after another. Meditators do this too. Quietly. In stillness. Unable to do anything else at all…except to breathe…and marvel.

As I leaned in and watched the finches that morning, I began hearing my man calling me home too. Over the continents and thousands of miles, I listened. With fond anticipation, I began the two days and ten legs of required traveling—taxis, ferries, flights, buses—to arrive safely back into his open arms in the nest we built together and call home.

Now, back in Seattle, my rekindled anticipation extends back to that other pair of love birds. Their little puffs of yellow baby birds—“amarillos” as Gloria, the hotel’s housekeeper called them—will arrive soon enough. I have a dream that the next inhabitant of my hotel room will enjoy them as much as I delighted in their parents. I imagine and hope and wait for this type of peaceful reality every day.