My sister and I decided to take a trip to New York City together before I started university. The year was 1978. Am I really that old? Yes, face the facts girl. As my children love to comment, "You're half a century old mom!" Our other sister lived there with her husband.
Our naïve small city eyes were certainly opened in the Big Apple. Hookers displayed their wares on street corners. I found it entertaining at first to watch them baring their breasts at passing motorists. It was more than a little disconcerting though when I was mistaken for a prostitute the day I wore shorts and a t-shirt in Time’s Square. I was standing on a corner waiting for a friend to join me. I was propositioned several times. The scariest part though was when three working girls thought I was moving in on their territory and threatened to beat me up.
The clubs were fun though, especially the one that catered to queens and transvestites. It was entertaining to try to guess whether the patrons were men or women. The cowboy bar with saw dust on the floor, just in case patrons couldn’t hold their liquor was a good time. We also went to a punk bar, where I’m sure my hearing was permanently damaged and another day we went to a jazz bar, where the band members invited us to a party after. Oh, to be young and hot again. But we made it clear at the party that we wouldn’t be sleeping with them, so they ditched us. No big deal. We met a couple of blokes from England who didn’t believe us when we said we were also visitors, from Canada. We didn't sleep with them either.
We were big city girls now. We learned to take the subway. It was alright as long as you remember where to get off and don’t end up in Harlem or something. I learned to tie my long blond hair back into a pony tail or a braid everyday, so that strange men wouldn’t try to touch it. White people were a minority in some parts of the city.
We saw a restaurant in Little Italy where a member of the Mafia had been gunned down. The bullet holes were still there in the concrete. We visited China Town, which I was surprised to learn had a population of half a million, the same size as our home town of Calgary.
Our various other activities in the city included jogging in Central Park, and visiting museums. The Museum of Natural History was amazing. I spent three days there. We went to the top of the Empire State Building and the World Trade Centre. It was amazing to be up so high. What a great view. It’s gone now of course. The Statue of Liberty was closed for repairs so we could only look at it from a distance.
We applied black lipstick and attended a punk concert one day. What a hoot! I took photographs of the people in their ridiculous costumes. We spent many sweaty nights in the apartment since we went in the heat of summer and my sister and her husband couldn’t afford to run the air conditioner for very long.
There was a trash collector’s strike when we were there. Stinky garbage was heaped six feet high in the streets. The rats were loving it. They were huge with hideous glow-in-the-dark red eyes. We don’t have rats in Alberta. Like they say, a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.
Friday, June 12, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Hail storms outside my window
Nature’s violence
Stones churn and roll in the heavens above
Then strike the earth arbitrarily
Oblivious to damage or injury
Car roofs dented
Shingles cracked
Woe to any creature caught outside
Lightning slashes across the sky
One, two, three…BOOM!
Intense thunder shakes the house
I am both frightened and exhilarated
Like a roller coaster ride
Now it is calm
I survey the damage
Branches and leaves torn from trees
White covered ground
Quickly melting frozen balls
Streams in the gutters
The sun valiantly pushes through the clouds
To warm the earth again
Nature’s violence
Stones churn and roll in the heavens above
Then strike the earth arbitrarily
Oblivious to damage or injury
Car roofs dented
Shingles cracked
Woe to any creature caught outside
Lightning slashes across the sky
One, two, three…BOOM!
Intense thunder shakes the house
I am both frightened and exhilarated
Like a roller coaster ride
Now it is calm
I survey the damage
Branches and leaves torn from trees
White covered ground
Quickly melting frozen balls
Streams in the gutters
The sun valiantly pushes through the clouds
To warm the earth again
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Two and a half years ago I received a phone call from the office of my family doctor, asking me to come in right away, and to bring my husband with me. I knew the news would not be good but until I actually heard the words from the doctor’s mouth I wanted to believe that there was nothing wrong. “It’s invasive cancer...must see the surgeon...treatments will follow...I’m very sorry...”
The room became hazy. I started to shiver, and sob. The words of reassurance spoken by the doctor and my husband were mere echoes in my ears, while the horrible realization sunk into my foggy brain, “I have breast cancer.”
I went home and cried while doing the laundry, while trying to distract myself with television, and while sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. My husband held me in his arms and we both cried. I cried on the phone when I told my family and my friends. Fear gripped my body making it impossible for me to relax. Adrenalin pumped through my veins all day and most of the night, making it virtually impossible to sleep. “What about my children? Will they grow up without a mom? How will my husband cope, trying to raise four kids on his own? I’m not ready to die. Why is this happening to me? I don’t smoke. I breast fed my babies. Why is this happening to me?”
There were no answers of course for my tortured mind. It was always “wait and see.” What will the surgery reveal? I had a partial mastectomy and some lymph nodes were removed from my armpit. The good news was that the cancer was found early and the lump was small. It had not spread to other parts of my body. The bad news was that it was of an aggressive variety of cancer and aggressive treatments were required.
“You will need chemotherapy... You will lose all your hair...You will be ill...” As the list of side effects was recited to me I again sunk into a state of partial awareness of what was being said to me. “We can’t be sure that the cancer won’t return even after all the treatments are done.” How was I to live with that knowledge? Human beings are not meant to live forever. Our bodies are designed to break down. We all know this but until one has to face the very real possibility of death, we don’t truly understand. It is frightening and very humbling.
I shaved my head before the hair could fall out. In that way I at least maintained some control over what was to happen to me. The days of chemotherapy passed in a haze, as the poison that kills the cancer cells took hold in my body. Despite the use of anti-nausea drugs, I retched and vomited for two days following each of four treatments. Food lost its appeal and even water tasted differently. I was perpetually tired and slept ten to twelve hours a day. The tiny hairs that remained on my head filled the tub after a shower and covered my pillow case when I awoke in the mornings. I could not remember what it was like to feel well. It would be more than a year before I would finally recover.
When one member of a family suffers from an serious illness the whole family suffers. How are children to react when a parent is ill? My nine year old daughter broke down in tears at school when she was questioned why her homework was not done and why she was forgetting books and lunch at home. After she told them, the teachers banded together to take turns bringing my daughter lunch.
I told my husband how our young daughter was hurting, forgetting that it could also have a negative effect on my 11 year old son. “I’m hurting too mom,” he said. A huge announcement for my normally reserved and quiet son. How could I not know that he was hurting too?
How do you explain to a child turning 5 that he will not have a birthday party this year because mommy is too sick? This was another time when I was astounded by the generosity of others when my friends and their children arrived at my house with presents, birthday cake and decorations for him.
My nearly grown 18 year old daughter said little about my illness, but just looked at me from across the room, her eyes filled with fear.
I survived the cancer, the chemotherapy and the subsequent radiation treatments a little worse for wear but perhaps a little wiser. I know that our life here on earth is short, so I have come to value the time I have. I look at my family with more fondness, savouring the precious minutes. I don’t know how much time I have left. If the cancer returns it may shorten my time considerably, or I may live another thirty years. That is not for me to know. That knowledge I will leave to my creator.
The room became hazy. I started to shiver, and sob. The words of reassurance spoken by the doctor and my husband were mere echoes in my ears, while the horrible realization sunk into my foggy brain, “I have breast cancer.”
I went home and cried while doing the laundry, while trying to distract myself with television, and while sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. My husband held me in his arms and we both cried. I cried on the phone when I told my family and my friends. Fear gripped my body making it impossible for me to relax. Adrenalin pumped through my veins all day and most of the night, making it virtually impossible to sleep. “What about my children? Will they grow up without a mom? How will my husband cope, trying to raise four kids on his own? I’m not ready to die. Why is this happening to me? I don’t smoke. I breast fed my babies. Why is this happening to me?”
There were no answers of course for my tortured mind. It was always “wait and see.” What will the surgery reveal? I had a partial mastectomy and some lymph nodes were removed from my armpit. The good news was that the cancer was found early and the lump was small. It had not spread to other parts of my body. The bad news was that it was of an aggressive variety of cancer and aggressive treatments were required.
“You will need chemotherapy... You will lose all your hair...You will be ill...” As the list of side effects was recited to me I again sunk into a state of partial awareness of what was being said to me. “We can’t be sure that the cancer won’t return even after all the treatments are done.” How was I to live with that knowledge? Human beings are not meant to live forever. Our bodies are designed to break down. We all know this but until one has to face the very real possibility of death, we don’t truly understand. It is frightening and very humbling.
I shaved my head before the hair could fall out. In that way I at least maintained some control over what was to happen to me. The days of chemotherapy passed in a haze, as the poison that kills the cancer cells took hold in my body. Despite the use of anti-nausea drugs, I retched and vomited for two days following each of four treatments. Food lost its appeal and even water tasted differently. I was perpetually tired and slept ten to twelve hours a day. The tiny hairs that remained on my head filled the tub after a shower and covered my pillow case when I awoke in the mornings. I could not remember what it was like to feel well. It would be more than a year before I would finally recover.
When one member of a family suffers from an serious illness the whole family suffers. How are children to react when a parent is ill? My nine year old daughter broke down in tears at school when she was questioned why her homework was not done and why she was forgetting books and lunch at home. After she told them, the teachers banded together to take turns bringing my daughter lunch.
I told my husband how our young daughter was hurting, forgetting that it could also have a negative effect on my 11 year old son. “I’m hurting too mom,” he said. A huge announcement for my normally reserved and quiet son. How could I not know that he was hurting too?
How do you explain to a child turning 5 that he will not have a birthday party this year because mommy is too sick? This was another time when I was astounded by the generosity of others when my friends and their children arrived at my house with presents, birthday cake and decorations for him.
My nearly grown 18 year old daughter said little about my illness, but just looked at me from across the room, her eyes filled with fear.
I survived the cancer, the chemotherapy and the subsequent radiation treatments a little worse for wear but perhaps a little wiser. I know that our life here on earth is short, so I have come to value the time I have. I look at my family with more fondness, savouring the precious minutes. I don’t know how much time I have left. If the cancer returns it may shorten my time considerably, or I may live another thirty years. That is not for me to know. That knowledge I will leave to my creator.
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