March Forth - Are You Aware?

Did you know March 4^th was Colon Cancer Awareness day?    

Were you aware President Obama proclaimed March Colon Cancer Awareness month?   

Did the country turn festively blue for the occasion like the pink NFL fields in October? 

 Sadly, not so much.   

Just like the silent but deadly nature of our disease, the quest to raise awareness and increase the visibility of colon cancer met with more than a little resistance.   

Who wants to eat a butt cookie?  

Walk through an inflatable colon?   

Take a buddy to a colonoscopy?  Or get one yourself?

Have you ever taken a pal home from a colonoscopy?  It’s like working with a drunk 5 year old.  You have to help them get dressed, they fart and giggle, they forget where they are going, they repeat themselves, and they repeat themselves, but that's a whole nother story.  
You really have to know who your true friends are since they are going to be handling you in a very vulnerable state.  Ask the wrong friend and you could quite literally end up as the butt of a very bad joke or minimally badly dressed.
Most know my story, at 40; I was diagnosed with Stage One colon cancer.  I had bowel resection surgery within 4 weeks, needed no chemo or radiation and went on to attend a family reunion in South Dakota just 7 weeks after surgery.  It was no cake walk, but it certainly cleared my perspective of what was truly important and made me glad that I was hyper aware of any digestive irregularities.  I had bouts where my “output” would appear that I had overdosed on hot tamale candies or tomato products when I had eaten neither recently.  That was a big clue that something was awry in the pipes.  
  
As a result of my early detection experience, 47-52 people scheduled and completed scopes.  Many had been putting it off due to the inconvenient nature of the prep and procedure.  Got to tell you, if you think THAT is inconvenient; try a cancer diagnosis.  That will really cramp your style in a big way.  Spending a few hours on the porcelain throne is minimal.  Overall, I was left with a compelling story, a minor scar and… a semi-colon.

 

Mr. M, Hope Star (me) with THE SHOES and Mr. M Jr.

Of all my vast colorectal experience, the best part was at the Undy Run in June 2013.  The first colon cancer survivor to wear the mascot outfit and be the HOPE Star!  I take that role very seriously every time I accept a buddy role.  Check out the SHOES!  They were the best part of the whole outfit!  Aside from the fact that it was 90 degrees outside that day and the circulation is fairly non-existent in a suit like that.  

In the rest room, I didn’t want to take time to completely undress and the gal in the stall next to me cracked up when she saw those enormous orange hi-tops under the partition. And my work there was done.  

Currently, there is a collaborative effort on a Facebook page to have survivors, patients and all persons affected by colon cancer interact to share hope, stories, support, and ideas for combating the challenges of the disease.  The page often reminds me that while I am a survivor, I walked a much easier path than most.  March also marks the birthday of a friend my age whose diagnosis came too late for any medical intervention.  While there have been triumphs, there have been significant losses in this path as well.   

On the plus side, my boys know that when they are 30, they can camp out at Chez Meeker, do their prep and get a front row seat to their first butt scope.  It will truly be a bonding experience from the open back gown and tacky socks to the fentanyl fog.  But I will feel better knowing that they have early detection working in their favor, since they have my unfortunate genetics.

My personal favorite, 'Get cheeky - colon cancer can be sneaky!  Nip it in the butt!'

www.ccalliance.com

Launching the Relation Ship

 Remember what captured your attention in the opposite sex as a teenager?  The list was lengthy – stunning good looks, humor, popularity, athleticism, ambition, intelligence, able to merge between different social groups, open to a wide variety of interests, and compatible with your friends - but not well enough to date any of them.  

  As Mr. M says, “In my teens, what I wanted to find in an ideal girlfriend was 2-3 pages long.  You know what was most attractive by the time I hit my 20s?   Any girl with any interest whatsoever in me.”  I always think there ought to be a naughty punchline to that question, but that’s a whole nother story.

  In our 20s we wanted to find someone with the ambition, education and abilities to achieve a successful long-term career to reach all other life goals.  In the 30s, it was someone who would take an equal ratio of the home, work, parenting, social, political, economic and financial responsibilities we had gotten ourselves committed to.  If we managed to be able to coparent well and would occasionally give the primary parent some alone time – the bonus round bell was rung.  The magic powers of chore play come to mind – nothing sexier than a man loading the dishwasher, running laundry or vacuuming.

  By the time we hit 40s, the parenting responsibilities become more like hostage negotiations – do you want to serve as chauffeur, cook, house keeper or prison warden?   The challenge/opportunity to work away from home is often an appealing notion.

  At 50, the kids are more independent and it’s time to renegotiate companionship opportunities that have been put on hold while the child-raising duties took first priority.  It also comes as no surprise that many relationships don’t survive through this point.  Divorce when the kids are grown is a common result.  Putting each other back into the priority rotation often challenges one’s own personal time indulging in hobbies, time with friends, career necessities and regaining lost sleep.

  The retirement time we may have envisioned for our 60s as being carefree travel and personal exploration gets set back further as the necessity of working longer to keep abreast of responsibilities. When the health is good enough to bear all the responsibilities, the funds are not available for excursions.  When the opportunity and funds for exploration finally emerge, the time and health may not be available.  If we have to compromise in our 60s and let others have their way in travel, social time, or take care of aging parents it often feels like our goals are being put on hold again.

  In the 70s and 80s, the realization that our life expectations may exhaust our life expectancy casts a shadow of immediacy to needing to “just do it”.  When partners or spouses die, the remaining partner often recouples quickly due to the desire for companionship, not out of disrespect for the previous partner.  Many of my female pals in their golden years, remarry knowing the marriage may be brief.  Their list of demands is comparatively short – steadily breathing and a good conversationalist.  THAT would be a bonus, but there is Rx for that.

  This year my parents celebrate 50 years of marriage.  It hasn’t all been smooth sailing for them.  There have been days of feast and days of famine, days of sickness and health, days of prosperity and borderline poverty.  They have weathered storms and given family the realistic view that marriage on is most often love, honor and negotiations; not roses and romance.  That’s the rare occurrence, when there are time, funds and energy. 
  If we were able to look forward 60 years in our 20s and see what the future holds might insure that we make better choices for the long term at that point.  In retrospect, I’m reminded of a thought I had early in our relationship.  I rolled over and looked at Mr. M’s freckled back and was unable to imagine not seeing those freckles every day.  Don’t make a life with someone you can live with; make a life with someone you can’t imagine living without.

Fashion Necessity or Frivolity - You Make The Call!

During my recent career search, finding myself with time to burn between application responses, I decided to go through all of my work clothing and pare down the stock. 
 The former job at a funeral home required dressy business attire in muted colors – so my palette was a vast array of navy, brown, gray and black.  I had no idea just how much black until I actually took stock.  Five black jackets – varying styles, of course. Three suits in varying muted tones. Three navy jackets - well-made in classic styles. Seven pairs of gray pants; four pairs of brown; five pairs of navy. Nine (9?!) pairs of black dress slacks – several lengths for shoe choices. You get some idea of the magnitude of this undertaking (cemetery joke)…  Just how many pairs of black pants are necessary and at what point does it become frivolous?
 At this point, Mr. M walks in to witness the carnage that has occurred since I have now piled the detritus from my closet onto the bed.  “Does someone maybe have a shopping addiction we should address?”  He received a stony glare and quickly backed out of the room. The man has survived over 25 years with me, so he knows when to stop talking and leave the room.  Flag is thrown on offensive play and time out called.
Next plan of action was to sort by size and try on each item to determine if they go in the keep/toss or “Will ever be able to wear this again?” piles.  The one thing I didn’t realize about working full time at a funeral home is that A) it was a 90% sit down job, and B) that all leftover cakes, cookies and unhealthy snacks from receptions would unfailingly wind up in our employee lounge where they would be consumed by the staff. THUS, the size of my wardrobe when I started the job was soon replaced by larger sizes.   And then, again, six months later… one job hazard I had not considered.
 About halfway through the piles after I have determined that more than half of the stock is in the TOSS pile, and getting a little disgruntled.  
 Mr. M. returns and I ask him, “How many pairs of black pants do YOU have?”  He replies, “Two. One pair of Dockers and one pair of dress pants.  Also the same of gray, khaki and navy.”  Bear in mind, this man dresses up only when a death has occurred, he’s being dragged to a wedding or when prime rib is being served, especially when it is paid for by someone else – see wedding above.  I see the necessity of a new game plan.
 His preferred attire at home is a terrycloth sarong during the summer with a tank top that has seen many decades.  During the winter, he adjusts to any number of free t-shirts from gardening volunteer organizations with Dockers deemed only fit for yard work – probably dating from the early 1990 era.  His work clothing is Dockers and button down shirts organized by day of the week.  Any wonder he was a fan of Garanimals as a youngster? His power suit is a black button down and black Dockers – good enough for Johnny Cash; good enough for Mr. M.  As an IT guy, all is interchangeable based on binary code, right?  Whole nother story there.
 Back to my process of elimination.  I decide to adopt the Mr. Meeker dress code and retain only two of each pant color that currently FITS and goes with at least two shoe options.  My closet begins to look far more open and organized.  Meaning of course that I have room to acquire more!  However, maybe that should hold off until gainful employment occurs.  HOLDING!
 A week later, we are getting ready to go to an event.  He has changed into a clean shirt and the standard Dockers.  I’m looking for the black pants that look great with black strappy Ann Klein sandals and can’t locate them in my new organizational system.  I then realize that I have no pants remaining that accommodate these GREAT shoes.  And have to improvise with a skirt…  which requires finding pantyhose…  which requires a quick leg shave…  which requires finding BandAids… which results in leaving fifteen minutes later - delay of game.  
 Guys have no clue what an effort it takes to be a woman and get ready to leave the house in something other than yoga pants, pony tail and sweatshirt.  There are weather considerations, outerwear and coordinating footwear combinations, activity level considerations.  There is as much strategy to dressing for an evening out as there is for the play book of a championship game.  Guys can throw themselves together in ten minutes.  If the shirt is dirty, wear a jacket.  If the pants are tight, untuck the shirt.  In my next life I want to be a guy, but with better shoes and more wardrobe options.
 Bringing us back to the original issue of how much of one thing is truly necessary?  Don’t even get me started on shoes.  Everyone knows that a woman needs a MINIMUM of six pairs of black shoes. Sacked at the opponent's 10 yard line for hesitation.