"Didn't See That Coming"

hoping for a new catchphrase for 2024.

2023, you were full of surprises.

You opened strong, with a rollicking weekend in Dublin. Okay, I got hit with the Norovirus (didn’t see that coming) but the live music at the Cobblestone pub made up for it.

In February, my newish job unexpectedly ended. I didn’t see that coming, but it turned out to be a blessing, without a disguise.

In March, the metaphors started kicking in. Bold, stormy skies and gray days with an icy wind matched my mood, as I grappled with what would come next. The dull, the dormant, the dismal were replaced with a burst of color in May, when we arrived in Foz Do Arelho, Portugal for a month.

To further drive the point home, there was an illuminated pathway outside our apartment with breathtaking sunset views of the Atlantic Ocean. Clearly, the future would reveal itself to us here.

And it did.

During that month, we played a lot of pickleball, J did a lot of wingfoiling, we made friends, and we decided this was the area we wanted to settle in.

Though I had hopes, I didn’t see any of that coming and it was a joyful surprise that made me excited about the future.

COVID when I got home? Didn’t see that coming.

A breast cancer diagnosis? No way did I see that coming.

One month into chemo, my hair is shedding from its outer edges inward towards my scalp and losing volume, which feels like a metaphor. I can deal with this kind of emerging getting- back- to- my- roots baldness, which is much gentler than I had expected.

My falling hair reminds me of falling snowflakes, accelerating as the storm gains force. More and more pieces of hair flying around my face, on my pillow, in the shower drain catcher, in the sink, caught by the teeth of my comb. The emerging bald patches look like the first patches of snow when it starts to stick and transform the landscape.

Photo by Darius Cotoi on Unsplash.

My thinning hair reminds me to pull inward and focus on what really matters. It leads me to do things like unsubscribe from the barrage of emails I receive (mostly encouraging me to buy stuff) and be discerning about what I read, avoiding toxic diatribes and any news about Donald Trump.

I highly recommend the book Eastbound and the latest from Anne Lamott’s wonderful series on aging in the Washington Post.

It has me craving my daily morning candlelit yoga, which feels like the one time I have control over my body and spirit.

And it has me appreciating the beautiful sunsets we have in my neighborhood.

Each week, chemo is full of surprises that I did not see coming, despite having read about potential side effects.

For example, nestled among the condiments in my refrigerator are syringes of growth hormones, which I have to inject subcutaneously into my belly a few times a week to stimulate my dwindling white blood cell supply. Adding to the Benadryl and steroids coursing through my body, I’ve been advised to take Claritin to mitigate any muscle aches from the shots. Most days, I am in a fog.

***

This time of year, rituals and traditions can be fortifying, a reminder of the foundations we’ve built. In our household, each year we give our daughters a Christmas tree ornament that reflects a highlight of the year and we eat Silver Palate Gingerbread and listen to cheesy Christmas music as we trim the tree.

It’s fun to relive our daughters’ eras with them — Disney princesses, ballet dancers, family pets, bygone musical obsessions, graduations, and the ornament J. made of a minivan crashing into garbage cans, reflecting the year one of them was learning to drive.

Our daughters are adults now. We haven’t fully grappled with what will happen when they are ready to start their own traditions.

In a book I just finished reading, one character warns another not to trust “the arrogance of certainty.”

For me, 2024 is not a tabula rasa. Much of the year has been decided for me. I’ll continue chemo until the end of February, have a little break, and then jump into radiation in the spring. Immunotherapy infusions will be my companion, every three weeks for the entire year.

But I’m dreaming about trips we can take during breaks in my treatment and still planning that move to Portugal. Who knows what else might happen?

If I were to be given an ornament next Christmas, reflecting the highlight of my year, I hope it looks something like this.

Thanks, Paul and Judy!

Each New Year’s Day, J. and our older daughter do a Polar Bear plunge. Not a fan of cold or cold water, I’ve been happy to document their exploits.

This year, it has been suggested that I join them, as a fuck you to cancer and way to break through the fog and reclaim my body. I’m seriously considering it, but also giving myself grace.

I’m learning to let go of expectations.

Happy New Year!

UPDATE 1/1/24 - I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Best Thing I Cooked This Week

Banana Cinnamon Bread Pudding, adapted from Joanne Chang’s Baking with Less Sugar

During the holidays, our local grocery store was giving out samples of bread pudding, something I never eat because I think of it as too decadent and rich. But, thanks to my chemo belly, it tasted like ambrosia and I decided I needed more. Didn’t see that coming.

Joanne Chang, owner of Flour Bakery in Boston, has a terrific book called Baking with Less Sugar. In it, I found a recipe for Banana Cinnamon Bread Pudding that satisfied my craving and soothed my tender tummy. I made it for breakfast the last morning my girls were home. Cooking for my family made me feel like myself again.

Banana Cinnamon Bread Pudding

4 cups half-and-half; 1 tsp ground cinnamon; 1/4 t kosher salt; 2/3 cup honey; 3 large eggs plus 4 egg yolks; 3 super-ripe bananas, mashed; 6 cups bread cubes (I used leftover panettone. Good choice); optional - whipped cream for topping (I didn’t use this).

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees and place rack in center.

2. In a medium bowl, whisk together half-and-half, cinnamon, salt, honey, eggs, and egg yolks and the whisk in the mashed bananas. Put the bread cubes in a 9 x 13 inch baking pan and pour liquid ingredients over the bread, mixing to make sure everything is combined.

3. Bake for 40-50 minutes or until pudding is firm and just starting to brown. Remove from oven and cool on a wire rack for 30-45 minutes.

4. Whip cream, if using.

5. Serve warm or cold, with or without whipped cream.