Just Down the Road

Those comparatively warm, sunny, comforting days in the middle of winter were rejuvenating. It felt great to go outside without having to dress for Arctic conditions. Believe it or not, on January 18 daffodils were sprouting in an unprotected, windswept area. 

 Without freezing fingers and toes, I was able to take down Christmas  decorations, prune shrubs and trees, and dismantle an old, wasp-infested animal coop.  

 Instead of snowmobiles, we eagerly rode four-wheelers in fields and woods. A pet mallard duck tried to swim around the edges of a thawing garden pond. Our dog almost fell in while walking on the ice.

 Hero, the adorable miniature horse stallion, finally discovered his electric 
fence isn't  operating, hasn't been for years. During the nice weather, he  decided the grass is greener on the other side of the fence and has been happily exploring the large yard. He prances, gallops, rolls in the grass, relaxes under a pine tree, and generally causes no trouble. Nights he is lured into his pasture with grain but the next day he wanders about, knowing he's a naughty boy.

 No matter how tidy the environment, rats and mice are often problems on farms. Dogs, cats, a few chickens, a duck and now a horse run loose so we don't dare use poison.  Snap traps for mice and rats haven't been very effective so I had the bright idea of buying glue board traps.  Unfortunately, I place them in strategic areas and forget about them. For example, a mouse-size trap in the laundry room became imbedded in my sweat pants. A chicken caused quite a 
commotion when she jumped out of the coop onto a rat-sized trap.  

 Before the January thaw my feet slipped on snow-covered ice in the road; down I went, splat like a pancake face first. Stunned, I lay there afraid to move, wondering if part or all of me was broken. Mr. R, busy stacking hay in the pickup, turned around when he heard the thump. After the fact, a town highway department sand truck approached the corner. Mr. R slid down the driveway, dragged me to my feet and waved to indicate he had matters under control. How mortifying!

 My chin was bruised and scraped, the front of my body traumatized, but, 
amazingly, no bones were broken. In contrast, while reading a book in a hospital room, I sneezed and fractured a rib. Talk about pain - caught off-guard, my involuntary screams brought nurses running from all directions. Incidentally, a recent checkup at the National Institutes of Health in Maryland showed no indication that lymphoma (cancer of the blood and lymphatic system) has returned. 

 Since there is no cure, eighteen months of remission is a milestone for the type of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma that almost killed me (there are more than twenty types); five more months and, maybe, I will stop obsessing about relapsing and having to undergo chemotherapy again.  

 In the past few months several people close to us lost their struggles with cancer. Donny Curtis was Mr. R's lifetime friend. He was a gentle, kind, hardworking farmer who always stepped in when someone needed help.  My hospital friends and roommates Darlene from Utah, Lynn from Toronto, and Muriel from Virginia bravely fought different types of lymphoma against great odds. I am in 
remission and they didn't get that chance - just doesn't seem right. Why did I survive when these vital women, a business owner, teacher, and psychologist, were forced to say good-bye? I'll never forget Lynn's self-controlled words eleven days before her death. "Sandy, I'm dying.  They can't do anything more for me.  I want to go home to spend what time is left with my family."  She got her wish.  Darlene didn't want to die in her home and didn't. Code Blue for Muriel happened in the hospital room next to mine, her husband at her side. Such sadness, such dignity!