Eight years ago today I had brain surgery to remove a mass, what turned out to be a tumor in my left temporal lobe. My fibrillary astrocytoma was small, slow growing and most importantly benign. I learned there is a high recurrence and therefore low survival rate in the first 10 years. Eight down, two to go. Quite the anniversary.
To celebrate, John took me out to dinner last night. We left the house right after the temperature fell and the rain started. When we returned home, the first thing I noticed was this
apple on our counter, bite marks around the top in a perfect half circle, teeny apple crumbs spread out a few feet in each direction, the IPad almost knocked off the counter. I wasn’t scared but I knew something was up. Especially when the placemats, salt and pepper and my medication were all out of whack on the kitchen table. The kids aren’t home and I’m too OCD for that one.
It turns out a squirrel broke into the house while we were gone through the screen above the kitchen sink.
I decided the squirrel is a “she” because I picture a mama squirrel desperate to feed her hungry family.
John thinks it’s the squirrel that’s been building up the courage to walk up to us like she owns the place. We laughed hard, searched the house for our new family pet and realized she was smart enough to leave the way she came out. She could have been a little more polite and cleaned up after herself but I forgive her. I cleaned the kitchen until my hands hurt this morning and it’s been on my mind all day. Not because I’m scared we’ll wake up to a squirrel in bed tonight. More because it’s a reminder of our lack of control in life. It was a nice distraction from the stress and a good excuse to talk about the squirrels in my old Oak Park neighborhood. I swear they had a straight up gang in the 80’s.
I started out writing with the words “I’m so mad.” First of all, that is so boring. I wasn’t thinking about the squirrel which is much more interesting than my anger, but the two relate. John and I have been binge watching Mad Men (*spoiler alert*) on Netflix since my kids moved out last month. I find myself addicted, yet I get mad during every episode. Whether it’s sexism or alcoholism or divorce – it’s always the dirty Don Draper, the epitome of all these things, who I still somehow feel sorry for. Don’t get me wrong, I cannot and will not stop watching the show. I realized it’s teaching me what I really care about. It’s not the arrogant liar, it’s the one episode character who reminded me that I have work to do. One of Don’s countless mistresses is a young teacher whose brother interrupts their fun because he needs help. The brother’s character refers to episodes – seizures – causing him trouble. His epilepsy prevents him from keeping a job or being treated like he’s human. He is starting a new gig at the end of the episode, prepared to be fired before he even starts. The discrimination was ridiculous 50 years ago but sometimes we have to recognize there is still a lot of work to do.
For today at least, I decided to stop pretending to be “ok” and start writing. That forces me up a little farther on the “ok” meter. I chose this day because it’s one I can vividly remember going under and coming out of brain surgery knowing who I was, where I was and what I wanted out of life. Those things haven’t changed. Thank you to the doctors, family and friends who have stood by me and always will. And thank you to squirrel mama for reminding me to tear through some screens if I have to. A message that feels like a treasure from heaven on another September 20th.
Seize the Day with Sarah 