Naming rights

I have a bad habit of naming people I don't know. I mostly give nicknames to folks I see regularly but don't interact with, such as people who go to the gym at the same time I do weekday mornings. I mentally say "hello" to them as we go about our workouts, intent on our own exercises and rarely making eye contact.

My favorites include Grimace, who always has a pained look on his face, and Chicken Man and Chicken Woman, who are probably very nice but their pinched features prompt me to think of them as poultry people. Chicken Man looked at me and smiled once, and then I was ashamed for what I had named him. Another one I've probably got all wrong is Terrorist, a smallish young man of dark hair and skin who wildly waves his arms heavenward on the treadmill, as if praising a foreign deity. I think I'm on the money, though, with Step Away, who works out regularly but really needs to step away from the buffet table.

The lesson here is that people probably name me, too. The women who see me in the locker room might call me Scar Belly for my long souvenir of last year's cancer surgery. That would be accurate for only one small piece of who I am. So, I need to project the image of who I would be proud to be named. Smiley would be nice!

New life

On this Easter morning, it is fitting to reflect on the abundance of blessings God has bestowed on me.

A year ago I was still in fragile recovery from Cancer 2.0. I had endured a terrifying diagnosis, dealt with the challenges of chemotherapy and struggled back to health from major abdominal surgery. By the first few days of last April, I had just returned to work and was looking forward to the birth of my first grandchild. Things were looking brighter, but I was also afraid of getting too optimistic about the future. This morning I am in awe of how richly I have been blessed.

Easter would not dawn as bright and beautiful if not in contrast to the solemn message of Good Friday. Sometimes we have to experience fear and despair to appreciate what is good and right in our lives. This morning I am renewed, and I pray that God will use me to be a blessing to others.

Girlfriends

Sometimes what seems like the worst time to do something is the best time.

Earlier this year, four high school girlfriends and I picked last weekend for a rare overnight outing. As the time for our trip approached, it became clear to me that it would occur just as I was entering an incredibly busy time at work. I was facing deadlines to prepare for some important meetings, several day trips around the state and a trip out of town for an annual conference at which I will be making a presentation to peers from around the country. The home front was also hectic as Tom and I celebrated our 36th wedding anniversary in the middle of renovating our kitchen.

How could I possibly take time out for myself with so much to do? How could I not?

Our girls' weekend turned out to be one of the best tonics I could have taken in preparation for the busy time ahead. We shopped our way south, checked into adjoining rooms at a casino hotel, gambled a little, giggled a lot and shopped our way back home the next day.

As I buckled down at work this week, photos and recollections of our fun time together popped into my e-mail inbox, putting a smile on my heart that lightened my load. I expect the memories will continue to lift me as I head into these next two busy weeks. There is nothing my girlfriends can do to help me cross any to-do's off my list, but the time spent with them gave me the renewed spirit that will carry me across the finish line. That's what girlfriends do best!

Blessed!

I put on a brave front, but was anxious as I waited to see the doctor this week to receive results of my three-month CT scans. In the days leading up to the appointment, I kept checking my abdomen for any signs of lumps. My belly would tense as I probed and asked myself, "Scar tissue or cancer?"

Even as the doctor entered the room, I tried to read his expression and for a moment was certain the news was bad. "Your reports are fine," he quickly said after greeting me. I tried not to signal my relief too loudly.

In a post-cancer world, no matter how confident you try to feel about recovery, every ache or pain is a recurrence. I know that thought tendency will abate over time, but it is still hard to give myself permission to always believe I will be OK. As this last checkup approached, I chose not to ask for prayers in church for good results, and then feared I was being arrogant to put on a positive front that presumed I didn't still need such prayers.

I am very blessed, and I know many prayers for my health have been offered up whether I publicly requested them or not. I will be sharing my good results in church tomorrow and saying thanks for those who have kept me in their thoughts and prayers all along.

No looking back

"Someday" became "now" for me today.

For years, I have wanted to make some kitchen upgrades. The counters are a tired, plain white. The cooking appliances are barely adequate -- an electric cooktop that struggles to get hot enough for dishes like stirfry, a narrow wall oven with one rack and a mediocre microwave.

College tuition for two children was the major priority that pushed my kitchen dream to the background. Then along came Cancer 2.0, giving me days when my view of the future was so short I wondered about investing in new underwear, let alone a new kitchen.

Now I am ready for a kitchen that I plan to enjoy for a long time. I spent time this week with my interior-designer sister-in-law making decisions on fun things like a new Silgranite sink and a faucet with a pull-out spray nozzle and narrowing the choices on granite counter tops. This afternoon I ordered a dual-fuel slide-in range and a combination wall oven with microwave and convection cooking. It was with great faith in a healthy future that I handed my credit card to the appliance salesman.

Last week I had my three-month follow-up CT scans, but I'm not anxious about the results I'll get on Wednesday. It feels good and right to be moving ahead to realize a long-held dream and not planning my future in small increments between doctor's visits.

Baby apps

I was feeding my grandson his rice cereal and squash yesterday when there was a lull in the action. My cell phone was sitting nearby, so I reached over to check a new e-mail indicated by the flashing red light. I clicked off e-mail and back to the screen saver. Then I saw Dodge eying my phone intently and smiling one of his biggest smiles of the day.

How cute, I thought. He has seen the photo of himself that I took the day he was born. It appears on my screen when I am not using the phone for other purposes. I figured he would also enjoy seeing himself on the digital picture frame his parents gave us for Christmas, so I positioned the frame where he could watch it while I finished feeding him. He did occasionally watch the photos scrolling across the digital frame the rest of the evening, but he never got as excited about them as he had when he spied me checking my phone.

When my daughter picked up the baby last night, I mentioned to her how tickled he had gotten when he saw his picture on my phone. Mandy started laughing, and then, demonstrating with her own Blackberry, she showed me what was really going through her seven-month-old's mind.

She has downloaded a free, baby-proof application that lets Dodge press keys without accidentally placing phone calls or otherwise using her phone in a way she might regret. His reward for each key is a brightly colored block that floats across the screen while a child's voice clearly announces the letter on the key.

Having the same phone as Mandy, I also now have the same "Baby Go!" app. Dodge is coming over again tonight, and my phone is on the charger.

One year later

A year ago, I was in a bad way.

I was lying in a hospital bed with a tube through my nose pulling dark green bile from my stomach and two drains in my right side pulling watery blood from my abdomen. A large, malignant tumor had been surgically removed the day before, Feb. 12, 2009, and for that I was beyond grateful.

As Valentine's Day came, my hospital room was brightened with beautiful flowers, bright red bows and greeting cards, but there were no chocolates, red wine or romantic dinners. It would be nearly a week before I would be allowed to eat anything, and several weeks before I really enjoyed eating again. Now Tom and I are looking forward to dinner at a favorite restaurant tomorrow night.

I didn't really mind not celebrating Valentine's Day last year. I was just glad to be celebrating life; thrilled to be rid of the mass that had been haunting most waking thoughts for the previous five months. I was ready to begin my recovery and to prepare for the birth of my first grandchild.

This year, Valentine's Day has deep new meaning. The first card has already arrived, and I have never received one more special. The cherub gracing this card is my grandson. In adorable photos taken my daughter, Dodge plays with a plastic, heart-shaped, red cookie cutter and a large, pink-swirled sucker in the shape of a heart.

As challenging as my circumstances may have seemed a year ago, they could not be much brighter now. I am blessed with good health and surrounded by great love.