*I can’t say I have ever believed in true karma. Too many shitty people get away with too many shitty things. And I’d like to think there is more outside this life, though we may all be just as important as a cockroach in reality.
I can confidently say I have had my go-around with life at only thirty-one years old. I have seen a lot. Done a lot. Been broke. Been stable. Let stress get the best of me. Indulged a little too much when I shouldn’t have. I’ve met some exordinary individuals and found myself under the shoes of others. I cannot say I have a terrible life. In the scheme of it all, it’s been pretty fantastic. But there are bumps and unfortunate times and that is to be expected. Including a cancer diagnosis, no matter to what degree.
My quarterly blood draw was Monday. It’s like my veins were on vacation. The phlebotomist and I couldn’t see a line so he went in blind; sticking only by feel. Luckily, for me, he’s clearly damn good at his job. The task was effortless. Still, it hurts and I continue to hate needles. I bruise quite fiercely. And after all the positive preaching I toss out there I do find it hard to stay calm for myself when I have no control of the outcome.
Yesterday, all my calendars, digital and written, reminded me of an appointment I had made three months ago with my oncologist, Karen Jacks. 1PM. Those afternoon appointment always interrupt my creative flow. I should know that by now. 12:50PM. Onward to Summerlin. The wait is never long and as I was called back, dreading what the scale would taunt, I was told my appointment was yesterday. I had missed it.
I proceeded to inquire with Dr. Jack’s scheduling assistant and she assured me they were correct. How sad is it that? You get so busy doing everything for everyone that you forget to take care of yourself. I apologized for my forceful, yet inquisitive manor, because surely, I would not have forgotten this appointment. For goodness sakes, Dr. Jack’s is THE only one looking after me since I was cleared by my surgeon. My endocrinologist never even followed up after my last treatment of RAI that she administered. Professional, right?
As I was getting up to leave, Jenn with two n’s, (Dr. Jack’s Nurse) walked up. I, like, love this woman. I gave her a hug. She too, last year, underwent a total thyroidectomy due to thyroid cancer. Not quite as invasive and she has had no reoccurrence, (High Five, Nasri!) There’s something about having such an intricate situation in common with another.
A bond, if you will.
I asked her if, by chance, if she could give me the results of my blood work and she did not hesitate to say yes. We can’t be much different in age. “Everyone has access to their results if you request it.” she commented. Well then. Toss them over, pretty please! The scheduling assistant, already not super fond of me, went ahead and printed them out. Why didn’t she offer that before I went into semi-jerk mode? We could have totally avoided an awkward situation. The sheets crossed the desk and I stared at the numbers.
TSH 0.017 (Critical Value, Verified x2, FLAG: Critical Low)
Thyroglobulin 0.2 (Low)
My mind went blank. Is this good? I should be a master of all this by now. But the same rule applies as to why I haven’t learned to code websites; I design them. I rather be really good at one particular thing, than half as good at two things. I’d rather spend all my energy and mind on staying positive and strong, rather than learning basic numeric levels that pretty much rule my life. Plus when your head is everywhere than where it should be, it’s hard to concentrate. You don’t read a book while your driving.
Jenn with two n’s assured me, these were fantastic numbers and to schedule another set of blood work around my one year anniversary for the second surgery I underwent – December 24, 2015. Time. Flies. Roughly four and half months away now.
As I walked out of the icebox building, into the blazing heat, I wasn’t sure if I wanted cry or run. I was so relieved, yet I have this pessimistic nature inside me saying, ‘don’t get your hopes up.’ I’ve been in this position before.
For now, and for the next few months, all is well. I feel fine. I can breathe just a bit more. I can attempt to relax. I will start all those personal projects and books that I have been putting off, tomorrow. Ha. Julian and I will take our anniversary trip to Palm Springs, like we always do and I will head to Lake Tahoe in two weeks. I will continue to share my experience and thoughts around it to anyone interested. To anyone who asks or need help.
Today, having no relievence to the above, I went to buy film at Wal-Mart because honestly, I have no idea where else to get it and I’m teaching myself to shoot with a 1968 German Leica in hand. No, that’s not a gun. F*ck guns.
In front of me, in line, stood a very fragile girl. Of some Eastern Indian decent. She had to have been my age, maybe a touch younger. She wore no make up and she was beautiful. I worried for her pettiness, as each one of her legs had to have been barely bigger than one of my arms. She dressed cute and natural and I couldn’t help but wonder if she had problems finding clothes her size, like us curvy women do at times.
She was buying two hand soaps, some q-tips, oranges, and a cheese cake. Her total came to twenty-four dollars and ninty-two cents. She tried her card and it was declined, twice. You could tell in her demeanor she knew it would be, yet she tried anyways. Then she pulled all the money she could find, out of her hazy green pockets. A five, a single dollar and some change. The line was building and she was getting uneasy trying to count. She nervously asked if I would help her count how much money she had as she was still learning U.S. currency. And so I did. She had eight dollars and eighty cents. She gave back the cheesecake, one soap and the q-tips. As she walked away I had this ridiculous feeling. I’ve been in her shoes before. Maybe not to this extent, but I thought of yesterday and I thought of how uneasy I have been since I got back from Wisconsin. I couldn’t help but pay it forward. I did hesitate, but as she walked away, I asked the annoyed clerk to quick ring up her things. She put them in a bag and I ran after her, leaving my purse, my life, at the mercy of the cashier and everyone behind me. I caught up to her, tapped her shoulder. She slightly jumped. I handed her the bag and smiled. She thanked me many times.
As I got back to the registered the cashier and the few people behind me fawned over what I did. “That’s going to come back to you someday you know! That was so nice!” All I could say was, “I shouldn’t have bought the cheesecake.” (It was $12.95 at WAL-MART!) But who am I to know if it wasn’t for her Grandmother or a special occasion.
I do not do things, so other things can come back to me. *Reference first paragraph of this post. I don’t always help people when it’s obvious. I am a firm believer that is why rich people are rich. They are either super smart, clever bastards or they simply keep what is theirs, to themselves and their family. No amount of money could fix everything, everywhere, for everyone anyways. Wealth is what you make of it. It’s a mindset. In this situation, something crawled up into my stomach, danced with my gut instincts and knew I would regret not helping her. And so, que reaction, though there is a 50/50 chance she would walk outside, remember she had just forgotten to transfer money from one account to another, hop into her mercedes, and drive off. I wasn’t about to play investigator to ensure she was legit. If I was wrong to help, it would ruin my dreams of humanity truly being more lost than it already is.
Cheers to some things just working out sometimes.
“The simplest acts of kindness are by far more powerful then a thousand heads bowing in prayer. “— Mahatma Gandhi