Circumstance and Character

From long experience saying things along the lines of what I’m going to say here today, first please let me assure you that I’m serious and ask you to consider not laughing. Ok, it’s fine if you laugh, so long as you don’t let me know that you’re laughing, at least until it’s all over. Some of us are slower than others, so it takes us longer to work things through and assimilate various concepts. These thoughts were stimulated by yet another conversation with someone displaying raging curiosity about my brain tumor without being rude or causing me trauma.

As background, during the Long Slog of last month, I attended a small, day-long event about ethics at which Robert Burton, the author of On Being Certain, spoke. He did more than speak, actually, he was present for the entire time as the group worked through some ideas and problems. He presented his work and some of his current ideas, including his ruminations on the implications of the collective intelligence of slime mold, ants, locusts, etc., for human beings. If you haven’t looked at the slime mold-replicating-Tokyo-rail-system study, you should. There’s apparently a similar one replicating the highway system in England, but I haven’t looked that one up. You can tell I’m stalling for time before getting to the part you’re going to laugh at. Anyway, in the midst of that event, citing studies on the effects of odors (fresh baked goods) on willingness to donate, he said, meaning to be provocative, that maybe character is all circumstance.

Ok, so here’s the truth that has come home to me: getting a brain tumor wasn’t my fault. In that case, unlike most others in my life, I didn’t have to spend time, given my childhood conditioning, figuring out what I’d done wrong, or thought of doing wrong, some way I’d fallen short, or some pattern of my behavior that induced the bad result. There’s nothing about it that requires or evokes any particular feelings other than “stuff happens.” It just was, and we needed to respond to it, and we did. Here’s the connection to the stuff about slime mold and locusts and Burton: If circumstance is character, individually and collectively, we measured up, and more. I’m proud of how we responded individually and as a family, and what it says about the character, especially, of our children. (I already knew all that about Michael’s character; he’s an unbelievably wonderful human being.)

Thus, it hasn’t been complicated for me to talk or write about this experience, since I wasn’t responsible for causing it in the first place, and have been only responsible for responding to as best as I could. Some of the post-craniotomy effects are downright odd, the oddest being not really knowing myself fully at middle age: I’m not who I used to be. Most of this adventure, though has followed the course laid out by many others who have traveled on similar journeys. Virtually all of what happened was affirming, heartwarming, wonderful and cheering. (There was that unique, fairly irritating experience when a collaborator asked for an extension on a deadline without telling me, citing my brain tumor as the reason for the extension, even though my share of the project was all done, but whatever. That experience was such an anomaly, it really stood out.) It does mean, though, that I’m still chewing hard to figure out how to respond to what comes next in my life, all of which is flowing largely as a result of my own (sensible) choices. No good answers there yet, just the putting one foot in front of the other.

Still Here

Several people have asked if things are ok, since there have been continuing gaps in my posting. I’m fine and it’s nice to know there’s a community out there paying attention and noticing the gap. We know the nicest people!

Thinking about the reasons underlying my actions--always a worthwhile activity--reveals that the silence is mostly because there’s a lot to do, though nowhere near what it was this spring. Also, I’ve been a little cranky, and I generally try to keep things to myself when there isn’t much positive to say. There’s no good reason for the cranky, just sorting through all the looming changes and a general dissatisfaction with the degree of clutter in my life.

Here’s an example: There’s a dress hanging on the back of my bedroom door that’s been there now for some time. The calculation of exactly how long that might have been is a little cringe-inducing. There was some compelling reason to get it out that’s no longer accessible, and I’ve been hesitant to put the dress away when the prospect of remembering why it’s there might be just around the corner. Sadly, that corner hasn’t presented itself, and doesn’t seem likely to do so, so the dress is likely to get put away today. That’s the state of my life: full of stuff and clutter without knowing why it’s there, except that the nagging sense that there was a good reason or use for it at one time.

I’m getting caught up, finally, after the exertions of the spring. This week and next, my goal is to get things in order for fall teaching and clear the decks before turning to summer, the waiting book manuscript and new horizons. The new horizons are both exciting and daunting, so preparing and thinking about them is taking some sorting through. In the back of my head, thoughts about exceptionalism are rolling around; as soon as there is something interesting to say on that topic, I’ll write more.

Summer is my favorite time of year. I hope you’re enjoying it as much as I am. Cheers.

21 Month Cranioversary, Plus One Day

It’s been a long pull, but each and every one of the big projects with deadlines is over now, and successfully. I’m still a little numb and, so far, about all I’ve taken in is how good it feels to stop. This intense patch went in two waves and, as has been clear from my absence here, resulted in a pared-down life focussed entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. The deadlines were in two waves, and the first wave was bigger than the second.

After that first wave, when both the huge proposal and the conference were complete, we got home on a Saturday night. All I wanted was ice cream for dinner. It’s hard to describe how deviant that is in our lives, which are generally pretty well-ordered. We make the bed, eat dinner together at the dining room table, wash the dishes and keep the public areas of the house tidy and welcoming for family and guests. We exercise (Michael more seriously than I). Michael, the cook, makes sure we have a protein, a vegetable and a starch at every meal. Our food habits are healthy and don’t include caffeine or sodas, much processed anything, etc.

Still, upon arriving home after a long day of travel, following a long and intense stretch of work, the only thing I wanted for dinner was ice cream. From Jarling’s. Size Big. Since I didn’t have to worry about the consequences of this choice for anyone but me, that’s what I did, by way of celebration and punctuation. Michael, of course, ate a balanced meal first and then had his desert. Size small.

It bothers me that I didn’t take more satisfaction from doing the two big projects, and doing them well, and that’s something I want to think about more: when I do well, I want to feel good about it, not just listen to the inner script that says “yes, that’s what you’re supposed to do, so what about it?” I’m ready to shed, for good, the “day late and a dollar short” tag my father hung on me, as it wasn’t right then and it isn’t now. My new goal is to feel that as well as to know it. Stay tuned on that front!

As for the 21-month cranioversary, plus one day, things are good. The intense stretch I’ve just been through wouldn’t have been possible last year or even six months ago, and certainly not the summer before diagnosis. It’s a great demonstration of the long road we’ve all traveled together and the tremendous gains of the journey. I’m not what I used to be, both in positive and less wonderful ways, and that’s ok. It’s all manageable and I am keenly aware each and every day that mine are the good problems to have.

The key is that my children still have a mother and that I can work, and successfully. The other stuff, including the need constantly to manage my energy and watch my balance, is becoming second nature. I’m more graceful at asking for--and accepting--help, which is overall a net gain, I think, in my overall growth and maturity. The continuing balance problems are the most visible remnant of my medical adventure, having stabilized at, well, unstable. After a long period where, with seriously focused attention, I could navigate stairs alone, that’s no longer possible, especially going down, without assistance. This gets worse as I get tired. I’m hopeful that this will attenuate some as I get less stressed and more rested. If it doesn’t, that’s ok. I can do this. The ability to read fiction still wafts in and out, and I remain hopeful it will click back in for good sometime.

My head and its dents are something I’m still aware of, though not anyone else--except now some TSA workers in Boston. I got wanded at their security station this week, and my head beeped. This resulted in what felt like about 600 people feeling my head and its dents, searching through my hair to assure that I hadn’t hidden anything in it. I’ve long since stopped carrying the document that explains the titanium spacers in my skull as they don’t set off the walk-through metal detectors, so that was a less fun moment. Fortunately, I had plenty of time and still made my flight. And washed my hair when I got to the next hotel.

As I continue to integrate this strange experience into my life, I’m discovering that a lot of people apparently harbor fears that they have undetected brain tumors. People who have heard through some grapevine about my surgery often seek me out and ask how the tumor came to light, and then tell me about their own concerns. This has happened often enough by now that I’m getting used to it, and hope that my responses are suitable. Who knew? It’s so easy to overlook or discount the stories everyone carries, their hopes and fears. That’s worth remembering and factoring in more often: we need to be more gentle with each other, as a daily habit. I’m going to try to start with myself so I can offer more to others.

And what I’m going to offer to myself, now, is a day away from my computer. Cheers.

It’s Finally Summer

Maybe not by the calendar, but by school: the semester is over, the grades are in, and all that’s left are the complaints. This year, there are two that stand out: the student who earned an A- and is complaining (to the dean’s office, no less) that while he understands there have to be grading standards, he thought this class would be a guaranteed A and besides that, he didn’t like the “hours upon hours” listening to speakers and other presentations. The other is from a student who agrees he didn’t follow the directions (“Analysis using course concepts is encouraged and will earn the most points”), but is quite happy with his answers and shocked by his final grade.

It took a few days to decompress and catch up on my sleep. All told, the life-work balance is looking much better, and the recalibration to a lower-stress steady state is well under way. It’s grand to discover that it’s possible to work hard, still, because that’s always been my one constant: I know how to and like to work. A lot else about me has changed, and not that. Through this patch, it’s been essential to manage the energy levels and pare out all manner of stuff, but at least it has been possible still to do the work. And, to put it as Michael’s mother always used to: “think of it this way.” When the girls were little and something bad happened, like milk spilling, it would be hilarious to hear Michael’s mother’s words coming out of their mouths: “think of it this way,” they would say: “after this, we’ll clean the sponges and they’ll all be nice and clean for tomorrow!” She could always find the silver lining. So, think of it this way: the money saved by not having time or energy to be out and about and buy anything can be put to use doing something really fun this summer. Or invested. Or something.

Yesterday, for the first day in weeks and weeks, I didn’t do a lick of work. It was nice. Read all the newspapers, got a haircut, took a nap, did some clutter abatement, some web-surfing, some coloring with the Mother’s Day pencils on the cool patterns, and watched a movie. I even managed to read a little fiction for a while. That was grand. I learned from a Cook’s Illustrated in a pile of detritus I was clearing that fruit flies are improperly named: they’re really vinegar flies, attracted to the odor of fermenting fruit, along with a tip for effective ways of catching them. Since we keep a lot of fruit around and often get vinegar flies, it was a useful outcome of desultory page flipping. All around, a great day.

Today, though, the conference planning needs some attention, the grant proposal requires some rewriting/polishing, and several people are waiting for information from me before they can move ahead. Oh yes, and belated thank you notes must be written to the speakers who gave “hours upon hours” of their professional lives to talk with students about their careers and real-world ethical dilemmas. Actually, outside the one complaint (why do we all have this negativity bias so the bad stick so prominently in our memories outweighing all the positive feedback, anyway?), a huge proportion of the final exams and papers thoughtfully incorporated comments made by the speakers as students grappled with issues. So there are great quotes to use in the letters, which I hope will help balance how late they are.

Now, it is time to think about going back and getting the biopsy (not on my head) recommended after my recent physical. Whether the accumulated stress has triggered things again or it’s just a normal progression, my body seems to be indicating that it would be a good idea to check things out further. Jumping ahead to the worst case (which seems totally unjustified, by the way, it’s just hard to avoid at least thinking it through, like dwelling on the negative comments over the positive ones), we anticipate scheduling challenges if surgery is indicated. I don’t want to mess up our planned vacation or any of the trips before that (big conference in California, annual teaching in Boston), so the time windows are narrow. We’ll call tomorrow morning and see about the biopsy, which is the first step, and take it from there. And think of it this way: all that worst-case anticipation will make anything less look positive.

This semester has helped to clarify my thinking so I’m hopeful that the book manuscript that’s been mouldering so long will come together this summer when I am able to get back to it. It’s a scary task, as I still cannot quite figure out who might want to buy the thing, and it helps to have an audience in mind while writing. At the same time, it’s a stretch and look at it this way: it provides a serious growth opportunity. Knowing it’s there waiting for me sort of counterbalances the sense of stepping off the end of the world with the date fast approaching for my last day of full-time employment with the university. I’ve worked there the whole of my adult life and it’s a big part of my identity.

Though I’m not particularly good at change, I believe through and through that it can bring good: doors close, doors open. By nature, I’d rather know their address and destination in advance, but mostly I manage to accept that’s not a choice we get. Wherever those doors go, though, I do know that Michael and I together will find a way to look at it “this way” and see what it offers. It will be be an adventure. Adventures, by definition can be scary and challenging and one undertakes them because the goal is worthwhile--or there isn’t a choice. Hence, knowing what to look for is important. We’ll be looking at it “this way.” Hope you’ll be along for the ride.

Almost There

The semester is slowly, slowly surrendering. Final grades for all the independent studies and one class submitted. All the grading done for another, just trying to double check all the records and figure out the final grade distribution. For the final, biggest (of course) class, the grading is virtually all done except all the mopping up around the edges: the make-ups, the people who didn’t submit a paper except they think they did, the disaster that is Compass containing a corrupted set of grades (“uploading from a spreadsheet does have some issues), etc. Those details always take forever to resolve. However, though it’s a full week later than I’d like it to be, I think it’s almost--almost--history.

So still not much time to think or write, but here’s a recent thought: in recent months, hearing about my continuing issues, a recurring response has been “how do you know it’s not just aging?” So, maybe all this has done is accelerated normal aging effects, so the forgetfulness, energy issues, etc., are all just a concentrated form of what would have come to pass anyway?

This idea seemed especially powerful as I was driving home from a meeting on the other side of town on Saturday, listening to the radio. It struck me then that my life used to have a sound track. At every stage of my life, there’s music I associate with it. That has completely vanished and I seem to be in a silent phase of life, as I can no longer concentrate if there’s any music going. Not on work, not really on conversation. So there’s really no music I associate with this part of life. It’s strange. The sound track vanished about the same time as all these other effects began, and since it’s harder to notice an absence than the vexations of daily life, it hadn’t ever really hit me, as hard as it did in the car this weekend, what a big change this has been.

Maybe, if you follow that train of thought, that this is just accelerating normal aging, I’m just more “me,” a bit earlier than usual? Maybe the balance stuff, and the crowd stuff is just my inner curmudgeon expressing a strong preference for solitude?

Maybe not.

In any event, the bookkeeping beckons. Not to mention the conference planning, the proposal writing, the.... It’s a drippy, rainy, grey Monday here. Perfect for concentrated work! I hope each of you is having a sunny, cheerful, care-free day. That’s my personal goal, so if I can’t have it, I hope you can.

20-Month Status Report

Not long ago, I wrote about the sensory memory of how it felt trying to sleep when there were still staples in my head. A few days later, the reason for the strength of the memory came to me: every now and then of late, my head hits the pillow oddly and re-awakens some otherwise-inactive nerve endings. I’ve been activating those spots more often lately, and I think that triggers both headaches and bad dreams.

This far out from surgery, it seems likely that what you see is what you get, and dramatic changes are not likely. The question that seems open is whether my scalp will ever return to normal, and if it isn’t what it used to be yet (it isn’t), does that mean that it, and other things, might still progress in a positive direction? At our first office visit with the surgeon after I’d been released from the hospital, we asked about the scalp weirdness. Our understanding is that it stems from the skin being peeled and then reattached, if that isn’t getting too graphic. It’s been both hypersensitive and sort of numb, which is a strange sensation indeed. The surgeon mentioned, off-handedly, that these effects are the last thing to go away in the healing process. So, since there’s still a small area where my scalp feels strange, does that mean healing is still happening and it will get better? Or, does it mean that there will always be a zone of oddity up there?

Aside from the scalp and the major dents in my head, the remaining craniotomy/tumor effects are a subset of those I’ve been writing about pretty much since the beginning: trouble going down stairs, energy shortagess, some cognitive deficits, and the odd overload condition when in loud and/or visually distracting situations. Two recent experiences have reinforced that these effects are triggered most often in the middle of crowds. Being at the edges of a room/crowd doesn’t seem to have the same impact, even if I’m presenting or talking to the crowd. Being immersed in a large group seems to trigger the effects--which can include falling down--every time.

At a large awards banquet not long ago, the combination of the noise and the visual overload of all the people robbed me of my balance: when it was my turn to speak, I had to ask a friend to walk me to the podium and back. My gracious good friend was, of course, happy to help, but it was hard to ask and even harder to accept that it was necessary. Not too many days later, at a crowded school board meeting, I lost my balance again. The noise and sense of being swamped by all that was going on was overwhelming.

It’s particularly vexing that I don’t always recognize in advance when I’m going to lose balance, poise and stamina. The insight that it seems to have something do do with being in the center, rather than at the edge, of a room is an hypothesis we’re going to be testing. We’re going to a large conference in June, and it would be good if I could last for two days’ worth of activities and participate/enjoy the entire event.

The grades for one class, the smallest, are turned in. The two big classes still have a ways to go, but I have faith that one foot in front of the other, repeatedly, will get me to the finish line.

It sounds like we’re going to get a major spring thunder-boomer, as our girls call these storms, tonight. We’re both looking forward to it. We can already hear the fairies dancing on the roof (the way my mother used to explain the sound of rain), and the rumbling of their drums promises one of the great spectacles of nature. What could be better than being home, safe and sound and cosy in bed, during a midwestern thunderstorm? Life is good.

Trade, Anyone?

It’s the Monday of the last week of classes. Finals start at the end of the week. This means that students who are just now confronting the end of the semester (read: the disorganized, the harried, the overwhelmed, the reluctant, and those with other priorities than school) will be coming out of the woodwork with questions, emails and other needs. It’s not that I don’t empathize, because I do; there were times in my life when school was far from my top priority. Still, in quantity, it can get tiring, especially since an acceptance of responsibility is often very low in the presentation of the need for the extension, or another copy of the assignment (due in an hour), etc. And after that, of course, comes grading, grading and grading.

Anyone willing to trade a Monday for a Thursday? I’d consider other proposals, as well. Until I hear from anyone, I’m going to take a big breath and jump in at the deep end. See you on the other side.