The Frame Shoppe

Hooter Hotline #19 "The Frame Shoppe" Started March 8, 2010 / Finished April 5, 2010

It’s the day before my first chemo treatment and I’m thinking about how I’m going to handle this. A small part of me wants to whimper about voluntarily pumping poison into my body. I’m thinking about the impressive side effects of the drugs and admit to feeling dread about living with them for an extended period of time. I’m thinking that if I think about it anymore, I won’t look very brave in that ugly vinyl recliner tomorrow. After some moments of anxiety, I begin searching myself, and then it occurs to me that I do know a way to handle this. It dawns on me that I’ve been using a particular “system” for dealing with “nasty” stuff for many years. Remembering that I have a well-executed strategy brings a sense of relief. Now I know where to go. I just need to visit my “Frame Shoppe.” I’ve been going to the “Frame Shoppe” for decades. It is not a secret place. I’ve seen lots of folks there, friends, neighbors, church members, family, coworkers and famous people too. It’s never overcrowded however, so I want you know about it so it can be resource for you too.

This is no ordinary frame shop. It’s like a Beard’s Frame Shop. You choose the frame style, color, size and assemble it yourself. The difference lies in the unusual types of framing materials and the unique and personal frames that are created as a result. Unlike an average frame, each side of these frames is made with a different framing material. I have found the traditional four-sided frame meets my needs, but as a custom shop, some one needing a hexagon frame can build it too. That’s really the secret of this frame shop; anything is possible. You tailor the frame to meet the needs of your project (challenge/adversity/adventure).

Looking ahead to chemo makes me analyze my usual framing choices closely. It seems clear that I have a pattern of how I assemble a frame for lurking duty of an unpleasant nature. I tend to pick the same four sides in a particular order each time. By the time I’ve got it screwed together, I truly like the product and have confidence that it will work. The confidence that results from assembling my frame is the key to my success in handling the gnarly job ahead.

Side 1: Think rough, raw wood. If you run your fingers against the grain, you get splinters. This piece comes out of the “Accept & Embrace” collection. If you have a big challenge, the sooner you allow yourself to stop fighting the reality of it and go with the grain, the fewer splinters you’ll get. Celebrities have entourages and paparazzi that are with them 24/7, but I’ve decided I have a “posse.” In my mid-thirties, I had to accept that, due to degenerative joint disease in my foot and subsequent surgeries for bone-graft and fusion, I would always be dealing with daily pain. Vioxx was my wonder drug until they removed it from the market. Ibuprofen filled the gap until I discovered my hypertension (high blood pressure) and kidney issues in my forties which restricted me to Tylenol for daily pain control. The thought of Tylenol as my only form of pain control scared the pee out of me when, two years ago, I was told that the persistent pain in my right hip was due to osteoarthritis. The pain resulted from an 80% erosion of the cushion on the ball of my hip and I am in a holding pattern for a new hip. “Come back when you can’t take the pain any more and we’ll schedule your total hip,” the orthopedic surgeon said. Great. I had maligned Tylenol as effective pain control for as long as I can remember. It didn’t even touch menstrual cramps, and now it was all I had to manage a buffet of pain. Throw in two microdiscectomies on L5-S1, a pinch of salt (no, wait, don’t add the salt, bad for the blood pressure) and you have someone with “pain” as a permanent member of her posse.

Here’s the deal, once I put a halt to my own pity party and decided to accept pain on my posse, I worked with him to manage things on a daily basis. We’ve had to compromise together and I’ve become more responsible for my role in planning the management. Now I’m a very good girl about taking arthritis-strength Tylenol twice a day and to my amazement, it truly makes a difference. I KNOW when I’ve skipped a dose because a maintenance level of it is very effective for me. “Come on Pain, we’ve got to get up and get ready to host a family dinner this weekend. What’s the plan going to be?” One thing is for sure, gone are the days when I could sleep-in on the Saturday of the event, go do the mega-shopping at noon, start the prep-cooking around 3:00, make the house presentable in about an hour while moving at the speed of light, turn off the vacuum, light the candles and take a two minute shower 60 seconds before the doorbell rings. “Okay Pain, you’re right, let’s work on picking up the house a little bit each evening. I’ll do all shopping on Friday and make ahead what I can. I’ll do all the prep-cooking while sitting on that cool stool I bought for you that fits perfectly up against the pull-out cutting board. You were right about the stool, Pain. It really saves the hip from screaming. And yes, we’ll let the guests pitch-in on the kitchen clean-up after the dinner. That’s right, it was you that made me promise never to say, “Oh no, that’s not necessary…Please, leave it!” I hate to admit it Pain, but you taught me to stop being so prideful and just respond to offers of help with, “Oh that’s so nice of you. It would be wonderful. Thank you.”

I have made peace with Pain. He really drew the short straw when it comes to assignments in this fallen world. I think he might even be a bit relieved not to be the worst member of the posse now. With Cancer as the new guy, Pain thinks he looks kinder and gentler, a thousand points of light-ish. I have had to make peace with Cancer too. Once you have it, even if all the breast tissue is removed, you can still develop breast cancer in other tissues down the line. That alone was a bitter pill to swallow. The sooner I choked it down however, the sooner I could get back to the joy of life right now. By the way, a little red wine helps a bitter pill go down. I don’t know what Mary Poppins was talking about unless she was really referring to a liquefied and fermented spoonful of sugar.

Side 2: This piece is made out of sturdy, highly polished metal. All choices in the “Tuck & Lean” collection are made of this material. The strength and smooth finish of this side of the frame make it a standard choice for me. Once I accept the fact that I must accomplish something gritty, nasty and unpleasant, the next thing I do is get into my “tuck and lean” stance. Visualize a boxer, knees flexed, one foot forward, bobbing, chin tucked down, flexed arms and gloved hands ready to protect the head. Now, lean one shoulder forward “into the wind.” That is a stance which will withstand harsh blows and fierce winds. Picture yourself that way, leaning into your challenge and pushing through it, not letting it knock you down. It’s going to take every muscle in your body to pull it off. Hold your stance, stay flexed, bob and weave. Eventually the wind will die down and you will be on the other side.

There was a point in my first marriage when I knew I had to correct my mistake and leave. This realization has been one of the greatest sorrows and regrets of my life. I take full responsibility for putting myself (and everyone else involved) in a position that was destined to fail. Sure, I can give multiple valid explanations for getting married at age 21 to some one who was a safe “escape route” and who posed no threat in either realm of philandering or physical abuse. I cannot however, justify the ramifications that he, his family and my daughter had to live with when I “called the whole thing off" after ten years of marriage. I had full disclosure about the gravity of divorce. My mother had been married and divorced four times. My brother was around for three of those and my sisters and I lived through two. My mother’s personality disorder ensured that each divorce was especially traumatic and I swore I would never put a child of mine through it. I also wanted to live up to God’s sacred view of marriage and never be divorced to begin with. I struggled constantly with the selfish truth that I felt like a caged rabbit and might shrivel up and die if I were to stick it out until Emily was grown. I didn’t have the fortitude to do it. I am ashamed that my selfishness over-rode her need for peace and security. I wanted a true partner, not a platonic bond. I wanted to experience intimacy on all mental, emotional and physical planes. My “safe” choice had fallen short on all three levels and left me very hungry, starving. He was and is a good and sweet man. He had done nothing wrong. The things I complained about were just who he was and it was all there in plain view before I married him. In my naiveté, I was confident I could cheer lead him into positivity and that we would both grow-up together. I was wrong. We were simply a colossal mismatch. Despite years of soul-searching and counseling, I had to decide if it was time to fish or cut bait. It was time to fish and it terrified me. I still have the mental picture of myself standing at the threshold of an open door. All I could see on the other side of the door jam was pure darkness. I knew I had to take a first step, but there was only nothingness. I was afraid to step through the door. There was nothing to step onto. I had to do it. After three years of living an “upstairs-downstairs” relationship, I admitted that five-year-old Emily was already living in a broken home. It was time. I got into my “Tuck & Lean” position. I met with my boss and asked if I could get on the list for a fulltime dayshift position. This first concrete step was grounding, but I almost threw-up in her office. My husband was so proficient at denial that he never really knew what was going on until I took him to see a duplex near our house for him to rent. His simplicity made it very difficult to inflict these consequences on him but at the same time, it made the transition process uncharacteristically peaceful. I bore no malice against him. He was innocent. I wanted to treat him with respect and kindness. I will always love him as a brother and feel responsibility to him. My vows to him will always retain their meaning in an altered form. Because of his goodness, we shared the same divorce attorney, parented Emily with a united front and always worked together as a team. We even shared gas money the first couple years because we got paid on opposite Fridays. He has been a fabulous father to Emily and will go down in history as the best ex-husband on record. Many times I have thanked him for this and my heart is full of appreciation and respect for his generosity in setting me free. Of the few regrets I have in life, inflicting divorce pain on he and Emily, remains the greatest. It took about ten years for me to accept the forgiveness I had asked God for. I wasted a lot of time not understanding true grace, but I get it now. Grace is life-changing. If you want to know more about it, ask me.

Side 3: For this side, I always choose white painted wood with a dimpled pattern on it. The dimples resemble horseshoes and are all pointed in the same direction, up. I didn’t learn about the “Rest Step” collection until 1993 when Rog and I enrolled in Mazama Climb School. By the way, I highly recommend their training program to anyone. We had ample opportunity to learn and practice the “Rest Step” during our training hikes and four attempts to summit Mount Hood that spring. When you face a daunting snow slope, usually in the dark around midnight, it always begins with a first step. Don’t think about all 5,000 feet of climbing ahead, just point your headlamp down where you want to plant your first step. Pick up your knee, swing your boot into the yielding snow, step and sink into it. Raise your self up on that leg and swing your other boot into the snow a step above the first. Shift your weight to the new step, relax your leg muscles, pause a moment and repeat. The next time you look up, you are at the top of the Palmer Lift and you didn’t cheat by paying a Snowcat to take you. Envision yourself doing the “Rest Step” through you adversity. Slow and steady. It’s cold, dark, the wind is howling and ice is collecting on one side of your parka, but you are still making progress. You find your pace and settle in. You can do this as long as you have to. The “Rest Step” is how I’ve gotten through the deaths of my parents. Don’t try to avoid the bad weather. Put on your best REI gear (trust in the love and support of family, friends and God), expect to get stung on the cheek with icy rain, expect your toes to feel super cold, expect to be a little short of breath at higher elevations, expect that it is going to be a major inconvenience to take a pee when you have a climbing harness on over your wind pants and long johns, expect that some one clipped to your rope will have his crampon fall off at the most dangerous point of the climb and finally, expect that all of these expectations are TEMPORARY. LIVE ‘EM & LEAVE ‘EM! “Tuck & Lean” will help you get ‘er done and prevent you from having to carry unnecessary baggage into the future.

How will I manage at least 16 weeks of chemo? It’s such a long marathon. Do I have it in me to hold up well for that long? Yes, I can. I’ll expect hard times to happen, but I’ll keep slogging along, resting with each step and remember that time is marching with me. Eventually I will climb onto the summit of Mt. Chemo, pull out a Hefty garbage bag, plant my sweaty butt on it and glissade to the bottom, squealing “weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” all the way down.

The wild spring weather of 1993 finally relented and we scrambled onto the summit of Mt. Hood as the sun was rising on July fourth. Soft, peachy-pink light surrounded us and cast the mountain’s shadow on the cloud cover below. It was truly glorious.

Side 4: This side must have a bold design. The “Confidence” collection has a plethora of choices. This piece reminds me that I can do, will do, and have done in the past, what needs to be done. Once you’ve framed how you will handle the project at hand, move forward in confidence that you can do it.

I actually had to be reminded of this by my pastor when he came over to pray with us a week before Chemo started. I mentioned that getting through the surgeries had been no big deal to me. They were relatively short-term things to deal with. Looking forward to chemo, I didn’t have anxiety about future hair loss, but I was worried about managing such a long-term and oppressive process. I didn’t trust myself to do all the right things for such an extended period of time. If I can’t seem to floss my teeth, drink eight glasses of water a day or exercise on a regular basis, how on God’s green earth, would I be able to do all the right things (enough water, fruits and vegetables EVERY DAY) to manage chemo and my daily life. It was daunting. I asked him to pray that I would have the sustained discipline needed to do it. My wellbeing and life depended upon it. If my wellbeing was maintained, there would be fewer complications and it would be easier on my husband and son. If I took good care of myself, I could continue to add value at work, repaying the kindness, tolerance and trust of my employer. Being a slacker simply wasn’t an option.

He read Psalm 57 to us; vs1-3: “Have mercy on me, O God, have mercy on me, for in you my soul takes refuge. I will take refuge in the shadow of your wings until the disaster has passed. I cry out to God Most High, to God who fulfills his purpose for me. He sends from heaven and saves me…God sends his love and his faithfulness.” When he prayed, he prayed for God to give me “confidence” in his love, care and presence. He used the “C” word five times in his prayer. When he finished, I said, “Okay, I get it! I need to have confidence!” His prayer was an important reminder to me of how much confidence I can have when I remember to whom I am connected. I’m not doing this on my own power, Thank God. I had anxiety only when I had forgotten that.

That same week, a dear woman, Sue M., from my previous church called to see how I was doing and what she could do for me. I knew her to be a woman of prayer, some one whose faith was very alive. I told her about my self-doubt and historic lack of discipline, right down to not flossing regularly (it really matters during chemo because the environment of your mouth changes). She committed to pray for me and I had 100% confidence in her. Aside from being a wonderful Christian mentor, she is also a nurse, a mom (wish she’d been mine) and she knows me really well. I’ll never be able to sort out what portions of whose prayers accomplished what, but six weeks into chemo, I can tell you I’ve eaten conscientiously, drunk appropriate amounts of water (stopped drinking diet soda) and believe it or not, FLOSSED REGULARLY! The biggest surprise is that it hasn’t been that hard to do it! I am so grateful the pastor reminded me of the confidence God’s presence in my life brings and for the devoted prayers of those who support me. Now, I am approaching chemo boldly, armed with godly confidence. If you are having hard times, don’t forget what a tremendous resource it is to tap into a pastor (whether he knows you or not) or a well-seasoned Christian. A cup of cool water waits for you on the edge of the well.

The Matting: It is the finishing touch. After the sides of the frame have been chosen and screwed together with prayer, it’s time to pick a mat color that goes with your project. My plan is to mat chemo by choosing really bad-ass heros for each session. I’ve made a list of choices: Rambo, Dirty Hairy, US Navy Seals, US Army Green Berets, 9-11 NYC Firefighters, US Marine Corps Forces Special Operations Command, US Air Force “Top Gun” Fighter Pilots and the Los Angeles Police Department SWAT Team. I am aware that these are a far cry from the gentle Pac Man imagery suggested to me by a well-meaning friend, but pardon my French, I want the shit kicked out of every cancer cell. That being said, I arrived at my first chemo appointment wearing the “power colors” red and black. My nurse asked me if I was anxious about getting chemo and I just smiled back, “Not at all. Today, Rambo is going into my veins and will be shooting up the bad guys.” I started singing, “Duh, du, du, du, duh, du, du, duuuuuuuuuuuuh,” but Rog interrupted and said, “No, Babe, that’s the theme to Rocky.” “Oh,” I said, “You’re right, Yo, Adriamycin!”