Warm Wisconsin welcome, bad behavior on tennis court, & another tooth bites the dust

With new friend Mary Robinson at Wisconsin Welcome sign

I Went to Wisconsin without my laptop and neglected the blog. I did a little writing on the rehabbed iPad (I had dropped it almost as soon as I got it) and I'm sure it's not complicated but I have a leap to make before I can write a blog post.

The MacBook Air is my version of the old-fashioned well-sharpened pencil on a favorite pad, I guess.

Actually I went to Chicago, then on to Wisconsin. It was with my boyfriend. Just trying that on for size. I don't know what to say. He's not a boy.  Boyfriend and girlfriend kinda work, but not totally at a certain age.

In previous blog posts I wrote that "a friend" drove me to Dana-Farber. It's time to be a little more specific while at the same time not revealing too much.

I went to meet his sisters and extended family. So that was a big step. There are sensitive issues.

My "friend" and I have discussed the awkwardness of finding the right name for the significant other, or as my mother used to say, gentleman caller.

Not a partner: too much like you're dancing or in a business arrangement. Although I hear that a lot of people are using it. Not a companion, which sounds more like an aide. Or beau? I used beau for a while but then some people got annoyed and said to please use his name.

I like meeting people and finding out about them (occupational necessities), so I was only a little nervous about the trip. He said, "Just be yourself."

They were so friendly and welcoming, and interesting, that I was immediately relaxed and did just that.

I think it went well, but there were a few moments when I wondered what they thought. For example, we were in the middle of lunch at his sister-in-law's when my fingers decided to do back bends and cramp. Trying probably unsuccessfully to be subtle, I pulled at my thumb to try to straighten it out. His niece asked if I was OK. At the moment I wasn't, because when this happens it hurts a lot.

It isn't just my thumbs. My other fingers can bend backwards also. I couldn't do this if I tried, but when it happens they get a mind of their own. One doctor said this is related to my graft vs. host disease of the skin, though I've heard that it happens to other people who didn't get a stem cell transplant.

 I know that the limited range in my wrists, which is a problem in yoga, comes from the GVHD. (Sorry former and current news peeps, this is an oft-used acronym. The whole terms is a mouthful.)

My beau's sister-in-law said it could be low salt, and she gave me some Gatorade. It worked. I was so happy that I flapped my freed-up fingers around. She kindly gave me a bottle to take with me in case it happened again.

I seemed to have a connecting point with many of his relatives. For example, I talked to one about our shared chemotherapy after effect, neuropathy in our feet. For people who don't have it, it's hard to understand how your feet can be simultaneously numb and painful. I wrote about it in this article about the pain of having and treating neuropathy. 

After a night in Chicago, we drove some four hours to Stevens Point, Wisconsin, my friend's hometown. (How about special friend? Nah.) We had two lovely runs in Iverson Park, along a trail padded by pine needles and leaves.

We also went to Waupaca and Appleton. It was a packed itinerary. I got an actual state map and enjoyed trying to find my bearings...and attempting to fold it back the proper way.

On the drive back, we stopped at a tourist attraction, the Mars Cheese Castle. At first, when Mary mentioned it, I thought for a moment that it was actually made out of cheese! It isn't made of cheese, but there is a lot of it.

I didn't get any cheese because I'm toying with the no sugar, no dairy, diet. I got some pushback on it. It seems like there should be a way to make some changes but adhere to moderation, not total elimination of certain foods. In any case I didn't get very far without eating ice cream.

 It was my birthday on Friday, and while writing the beginning part of the blog, I was eating a large piece of my birthday carrot cake. It's hard to refrain from cake on your birthday. It's carrot cake so it must have something good for you in it. Those little frosted carrots on the top, per chance?

The day before, I had my 13th tooth pulled. As directed by the dental surgeon, I took two Ativan (two milligrams total). I really wanted coffee afterwards. My chauffeur obliged. He was a good sport. I don't remember doing this, but I believed him when he said I was falling all over the place.

I vaguely remember going into the Odyssey Bookshop and picking out three books for him to buy me. (Educated, Less, and the first Louise Penny book, recommended by his sisters and echoed by friends.)

Unhappy camper

The next day I said we could return one because it seemed like a lot. He said it's only three books. Did I say he's a mensch? Also, my dog has a crush on him.

There is a string hanging down from the stitch in my gum where the tooth used to be. It is hard to avoid playing with it with my tongue. It hurts on and off, more so at night. The oxycodone makes me have hallucinatory dreams, but it works the best.  I need to repeat this or else people will think I'm a drug addict: My doctors don't want me to take much Tylenol because it is bad for the liver, in which I have some graft vs. host disease. Advil and the others are not good either, for a variety of reasons.

On my birthday we went to George's smaller (than Wednesday) clinic at the Holyoke Canoe Club. It was a fun time, as usual.

But sadly, in other ways, the stars do not seem to be aligned over my happy place, specifically in our normally relaxed, low-key, Saturday and Tuesday group.

My other groups are set up so that we plan ahead to have an even number. In this group, whoever shows up, plays, so you might have one player at a time rotating in for the server.

It's not my first choice because you don't play a full set. But I realized that the socializing and coffee-drinking while waiting your turn is part of the fun.

If there are more than two people sitting, however, I get antsy. So I either leave or on occasion have asked someone to hit with me on another court. This still leaves one extra person so that anyone who wants to rest, gets a chance to do it.

Last week when a third extra person arrived, I asked another of the "sitters" if he wanted to go on another court to hit. It would still leave one to rotate in.  Believe me, I know what it's like to be tired, so I have compassion.

A player, "E," bellowed, "YOU SIT! We need to rest!"

Excuse me? I wondered, would he direct a guy this way? I think not. Was he being a bully? I believe he was. After I had my turn serving, I packed up to leave. With tears in my eyes. Nobody likes being yelled at. But in addition, for me, an element PTSD comes into play.

I went home to walk the dog. Who does not bark at me.

Saturday was even worse. I went to tennis despite having a bad night's sleep and being a little "off" because of the pain and the remnants of the night's drugs. When I got there, it looked like three would be sitting, but then another player arrived. So we had eight, two women and two men. I was excited. Good for real doubles.

We had some good rallies but they beat us, 6-1. It seemed like it would be obvious to switch partners. They were a stronger team, let's face it. I was off a beat, and so was my partner. I suggested switching, but my partner wanted a rematch. Actually, he INSISTED.

It started out OK, 1 to 1. Then this happened. A ball came right to my partner, just a little bit higher than his head. He ducked. Our coach, George, would say that a good player is always ready to back a partner up. But I guess I'm not that good. I said, "Oh, C, tell me if you want me to get it and I'll go for it."

I didn't think much of it because partners say things like this to each other all the time. And I didn't say it in an angry way, because who am I to get angry with a partner?

The next game when I was serving, a ball rolled half way into the court, near where he was standing at the service line. Etiquette, or just plain being reasonable, calls for the partner who is not serving to pick up the ball. He looked back at me and said, "You get it."

Normally talkative, he didn't say one word after that.

We lost the second set 6-1.

When we were sweeping the clay, he picked up the brush and lowered his head. He would not look up. I grabbed the line sweeper and walked alongside him. "What's the matter?" I asked. He wouldn't answer. I repeated the question. He glared at me.

"I hate you," he said.

"You're just as bad as R," he said, referring to a player who he thinks takes it too seriously. (First I put the whole name in and then took it out.)

"I don't criticize you when you make a mistake. Don't you tell me what to do," he said.

I was stunned.

I followed along for a while and said I was sorry, I wasn't criticizing.

He walked off the court to where George and a group of other players were sitting.

I went over to the other player cleaning their side of the court.

I asked if she heard what was going on and if she saw what had happened during the game. She said she saw him go silent after the point that I referenced.

She suggested that to clear the air, I should just repeat that I was sorry.

So I did it.

"C," I said, "I'm sorry."

He looked up at me with (sorry about the cliche) daggers in his eyes.

"Don't talk to me," he said.

WHAT?

How rude, how ungracious, how juvenile!

This person by the way has been a big supporter through the cancer stuff, and, I thought, a real friend.

You could psychoanalyze...maybe he was mad that the other guy was playing better, maybe he had a fight with his wife, maybe he got out on the wrong side of the bed....

But again, I ask, would he talk this way to a guy?

I can't imagine he would.

Meanwhile, I saw I had a missed call from Katie.

I walked over to the river and sat on a chair. And started crying so much that she probably thought something terrible had happened.

I said I wished I was tougher and had said, "Don't talk to me like that."

I was also crying because I was tired, because it had just been my birthday and my parents weren't there, because I thought of all the parties at Atlantic Beach, and because the sweet photo that my sister posted of the two of us and our mother and Sam in front of 77 Coronado Street made the memory so vivid, and because I lost another tooth and the absence of the tooth generated a dull ache as though the tooth were still there, and because I will need another bridge costing thousands of dollars, and because I thought I knew someone and it turned out he was just another bully on the playground.

Afterwards, my reaction made me think of that horrible presidential debate in which Hillary Clinton turned and smiled when Donald Trump was coming menacingly close to her, after which she wrote in her book that she wished she had said, "Back up you creep."

Clinton wrote, “Maybe I have over-learned the lesson of staying calm, biting my tongue, digging my fingernails into a clenched fist."

The author of an article in Quartz wrote, "The passage is a clear appeal to the women who supported her. And Clinton’s reaction is relatable to anyone who has been harassed or intimidated—even if it wasn’t live in front of the entire country—and didn’t immediately react.

Then again, that's how many of us were brought up, and there is something to be said in favor of staying calm.

On being in paradise and coming back

Daily yoga at Villa Pelicano

I think I surprised everyone by saying that I was going to Costa Rica with less than a week's notice, but I did it, and I had a fabulous time, and I have been feeling tired (from the energy expended)  and a little farblondjet (due to no longer being in paradise and trying to figure out how to maintain some of what I got over there).

Still, it is my problem at the moment and as a wise son says in this kind of situation, "It is what it is."

If that isn't a First World Problem and a Healthy Person's Problem, I don't know what is.

I surprised myself and one of my yoga teachers at the Hampshire Y, Megan, when I said I would look into it after she told the class that she had some spots left in a women's self-care and yoga retreat in Costa Rica ... happening in less than a week. After checking in with some of the people who watch me (mainly my daughter and my nurse practitioner), and checking to see that I had a valid passport, I pondered the discount she offered, a great one for seven days, with two meals a day that turned into three when you considered the delicious leftovers.

I sat at my kitchen table and thought about how my life is good, but wouldn't it be great to break out. I haven't gone anywhere major in a long time. I had appointments to rearrange and a lot of miscellaneous stuff, but I did it, well, most of it, and was so glad I went.

We were on a private estate with views of the water, yoga every day, and the sound of birds early in the morning. Maybe they were saying, coffee, coffee, but whatever, their call got me out of bed before dawn. The coffee was usually made by someone else who got up even earlier. All I had to do was pull down the lever, fill the cup, and settle in on a couch or chair and watch the day dawn.

I keep starting this post and going back to it because it almost seems like a dream that is hard to recreate. 

This might seem like a small thing but my laptop (to some friends' understandable annoyance) has become an extension of me. I didn't bring it and therefore didn't do the writing I had thought I might do. Otherwise I would have done some blog posts in real time.

At Manuel Antonio National Park

It seemed to us that there was as much uphill going down as there was going up. This might not make sense but it was because going both ways, there were a lot of ups and downs. (Note to self: Write something for my new gig at Health-Union.com about how this was a lot like cancer treatment.)

To save space, I instead took an iPad (a gift) that had flung itself off my counter when I was packing and didn't make me want to write on it, due to the crack across it and my clumsiness in figuring out a new format. Plus, it might actually be broken because when a new friend tried to help me scroll up and down on a blog post, it kept getting stuck. I put it away and was more unplugged than I have been in a while. I think this was a good thing.

I wrote a little something on Facebook on April 28:

"I want to move here, which is what people on vacation often do. I’m at a private estate, Villa Pelicano, in the town of Manuel Antonio, with a group of eight fabulous yoginis from around the country, plus our teacher Megan. Every day has a theme. Yesterday was fortify. I did it with a 12-mile round trip hike up to a waterfall. We walked over a suspension bridge to get there and then got into a pool. It was exhilarating. They were surprised that I made it. On the way back in a tropical downpour, my knee started to hurt a little. I jogged towards the finish, thinking that if I got there faster there would be less time for it to hurt. Last night, instead of being tired, I was wound up and energized. I really love this group. We do yoga every morning on the outside deck seen in the photos. Then we have activities. We get two free treatments at Holis Wellness Center, down the road a few minutes. It is so interesting to get to know people from scratch in this special environment. We talk about anything and everything. Oh did I say we our own chef? And the coffee is perfecto. I want to ask her to do it again and maybe get some friends from back home to go. When you break down what you get, it is a great bargain!"

That was all I could manage to write on my iPhone. I want to add that I couldn't have done the hike without the new friend who walked with me. There was supposed to be one group to go the whole route and another to take a car and start a little farther up. Those who I asked for recommendations suggested I go on the shorter hike. I would have done it. But one by one, the people in that group decided not to go at all. It was either the whole or nothing. They kept talking about a bridge that I wanted to see.

Most said they wanted to go fast. I knew I couldn't do that. Alison volunteered to go with me "slow and steady." We stopped briefly along the way to look at bugs and plants; she knew a lot about both, and it was an educational distraction. I zigzagged up and down and took it bird by bird, or in this case, rock by stone. We talked about so many different things that by the top, it seemed like we had known each other for years.

The others, who had gotten to the lunch spot and waterfall before us, gave us a round of applause when we emerged. Then we walked over the bridge to the waterfall and took a dip. I didn't look down, instead looking ahead to Alison when she got to the other end. She was so positive and fun to be with that she was a great focal point.
On the way back, she recited a mantra. I didn't know what she was saying, but I hummed along. 


Going over the stones to get into the pool was probably the hardest part, but it was worth every step of the way. Athletic Rachel from Colorado went in for a second dip and provided encouragement. It was a peak experience. Coming back through a tropical storm added to the magic. All the creatures woke up. The green was greener and the flowers brighter. The frogs were so loud. It was starting to get dark. 

Triumphant with Alison McKee at end of bridge

 A bug bite on my back is driving me crazy. I took a Benadryl so I wouldn't lie there itching for three hours. I think the new Fellow on rotation might have thought I was in bad shape because I was slurring my words. Afterwards I asked her how you hold on to all that Zen. 

The challenge, of course, is bringing some of it back with you. I got back around 1 in the morning last Tuesday after making a connection that gave me just enough time to board my second plane in Charlotte.

The next day I went to ECP. Then I came home and played tennis. Then I tried to reorganize. I have several writing projects going at once. Yesterday I had ECP, two weeks in a row, because they didn't want me to skip too many due to vacation. 

Before ECP I actually skipped a Wednesday, the day before yesterday, at the Canoe Club. It would have been my first outside lesson with George of the season. This was big: The Canoe Club is another kind of paradise for me. But I wanted to go to Megan's yoga class, to hear her voice and do her calming yin yang yoga and feel myself back in Costa Rica just a little bit.

"Don't judge yourself," she said.

For people of a certain ilk, like myself, this is hard to do. 

In our circle we had talked about trying to be less goal-oriented, to be more like the sloth that we saw, to go with that good old flow.

Hopefully I can keep just a little bit with me.

Thin skinned, literally and figuratively

I suspect I overreacted to something that a new participant said at our Wednesday clinic with George at the Holyoke Canoe Club.

When we were doing a drill where you slice the ball back and forth so that it stays inside the service box, she kept giving it the kind of slice more befitting a lob, sending it over my head. I let them go and by about the fourth time I said we're supposed to be keeping them in the box. Then she did it again. I said I can't jump for those and she stopped and asked, "Why?"

It would have been at the very least puzzling to the other people at our level in a fun clinic like that, and the next step up would be annoying. I reacted a step beyond that, getting defensive and mumbling to the person next to me hitting with a different person, "She should try having ......." Well you can fill in the rest.

He said I was doing great and to let it go, which I did, as soon as I looked at the sun sparkling on the river and switched to another hitting partner.

It obviously didn't fall unto the "stupid things people say to you when you have or have had cancer" category because she didn't know anything about me; rather it was just plain old "silly things people say" that don't deserve attention. But sometimes I go there without even realizing it.

I actually am running around well and had a good 6-3, 6-3 win my doubles partner Monday at Crosier Park in our Paper Dolls summer league game. We also won 4-0 when we played "for fun" after the match was over. (A team sweep!)

Since I'm getting a little tired of covering up with long sleeves plus pants under my skirt plus my sun-protection gloves, yesterday I took a break and wore a tank top instead of the long sleeves and ditched the long stretchy pants.

Afterwards I met some of the players for lunch at the Bueno Y Sano food truck in Holyoke. There was no shade, and so we sat at a picnic table under the hot midday sun. I didn't have anything long-sleeved with me, so I grabbed a striped beach towel still in the car from our Wellfleet trip. I'm sure I looked odd looking like that on Race Street where there was no beach, but nobody looked at me.

The light therapy makes my skin supersensitive, and my arms got sunburned.Today I was back in my long sleeves, hot but protected. It's a good thing I didn't go to Dana-Farber today because Ellen (the PA) would have something to say about it. She wants me to play indoors, but since everyone is outside and tennis is part of my self-prescribed health-care protocol, I'm just going to keep covering up, lathering on the sunscreen, and playing.

River view, recovery mode

Connecticut River view from Canoe Club

George's "air-conditioned" court by the river

It was great to be outside playing tennis on the clay courts at the Holyoke Canoe Club from 9 a.m. to noon, with a view of the river, as opposed to having a needle in my arm from  8 to 10 and 11 to 2 at Dana-Farber, albeit with a nice view of Boston.

The conditions were tricky, with the wind whipping up clouds of clay. I could hear my father's voice: "You can't complain. Tennis is an outside sport."

As usual, George's Wednesday clinic was fun, with something always to learn and good partners and opponents.

Still, I did not have my usual joie-de-tennis. I am drained after working so hard to stay on top of my logistical challenges the past two days.

When I got home last night I expected to crash, but instead, deprived of my daily exercise, I could not settle down. I stayed up past midnight but still woke up at my usual early hour. The short night probably accounts for my flat-lined feeling.

The words of support that people wrote yesterday helped immensely.

Hopefully I can get to sleep earlier tonight.

Tennis in the rain, what a glorious feeling

Yesterday might have been the last day for playing outside at the Holyoke Canoe Club, and we came out in full force, eight of us and then six die-hards who played even after it started raining.

We were playing George's made-up game of triples, three against three, which I initially didn't like but which I now understand is good for your doubles game because the balls keep coming, quickly and from unexpected places.

It is a perfect place for tennis: clay courts nestled in the woods, the river nearby, and George's "air-conditioned" court – the one closest to the river – for catching a breeze on hot days. Also, non-competitive, easy on your legs, everyone joking and having fun, complimenting each other, always learning something, sharing a watermelon and exchanging stories-of-the-week during breaks.

So it is hard to say good-bye for the season. We played on for maybe 15 minutes, until the rain that began as a drizzle really started coming down.

Playing tennis in the rain, and also running in the rain, makes you feel like a little kid. Silly, and without any concern except to hold on to your racquet in tennis and navigate the puddles while running.

Yesterday was warm, but next week's forecast calls for rain and cold.

It had to end sometime, but before you know it, George will be talking about putting the courts back together.

You could sing my headline to this song:

I have a new idol

Some of us look at younger people and feel envious, wishing we could be like they are.
(OK, maybe you never do, but it does happen to me.)

On Wednesday I wished I could be like Mrs. Hannigan, who is thirty or so years older than I am, give or take a few. I think George said she is a retired teacher.

To back up. I went for the first time to George's Wednesday morning clinic at the Holyoke Canoe Club, a beautiful place on the Connecticut River that traces its origins to 1885. Once you enter the club's grounds, tucked away behind Route 5, you pass a Victorian clubhouse that saw better days in the years when Holyoke flourished, but the tennis courts (eight clay and two hard) are in tip-top condition.

About a dozen players showed up for the Wednesday clinic from 9 a.m. to a little after 11:30. George had told me about this group. He said some have artificial body parts, so he sometimes makes up creative drills tailored to their abilities. I was unsure what to expect.

He gave newcomers a brief introduction.

"Everyone, this is Ronni," he said. "She plays around the world...Holyoke, South Hadley, Longmeadow, Enfield." Ha! Small world. But I do cover some distance, tennis-wise. (My longest trip is about 45 minutes to Enfield, Conn.)

He introduced all of the players by their first names, except for Mr. and Mrs. Hannigan.

Mrs. Hannigan is a small, wiry woman with wavy white hair. She stoops a little. Mr. Hannigan, also white-haired, has a bad hip. He hardly moves. I sized them up skeptically.

We did a drill where we hit cross-court with a partner, then rotated one spot to the right so that everyone eventually faced everyone else. I started out with Mr. Hannigan. Without moving, he returned a lot of balls.

But Mrs. Hannigan was the biggest surprise. George's big thing is the slice, which is natural on my backhand but not too pretty on my forehand. She sliced everything perfectly, high to low, the ball spinning backwards over the net. I missed some balls just trying to study her swing. She sliced, the ball spun backwards and died.

When it was time for us to rest, George put out cones for another drill. He gave Mrs. Hannigan the job of putting balls on all of the cones so that we would have a target.

"Mrs. Hannigan gets restless," he said. "She needs something to do."

"Thank you," she said, jumping up while the rest of us sank into our chairs under the hot sun.

Then came time to play. My last partner of the day, Jane, had already played both Mr. and Mrs. Hannigan. She said he is ambidextrous, quickly switching from his left to his right hand before his opponent even notices what's going on. I would have liked to see that.

Jane and I faced George and Mrs. Hannigan. She hit so many short angled slice shots that I told Jane maybe we should move closer to the net.

"Then she'll just lob us," Jane said. "I've seen it."

And that she did, hitting up, up, up over our heads to a spot that I might have gotten to 20 or so years ago. At that point I was getting a little loopy, and I burst out, "I want to be Mrs. Hannigan!"

She allowed a small smile, reminding me of our eighth-grade math teacher, Mrs. Casey, who put up with us and seemed to hold onto hope that eventually we would get it. We thought Mrs. Casey was really old, but she was probably in her 60s. She was big into "The Little Engine That Could."

Mrs. Hannigan was similarly encouraging.

"You can do it," she said.

Maybe when I grow up.