Sometimes Surveillance is Satisfactory

When survivorship becomes long-term, it can be an adjustment to move from active treatment to periodic surveillance.

Yesterday, I was scheduled for my annual visit at the cancer treatment center. Since my last visit, the center had been bought by another company. I was nervous about the visit, not only because it had been a while since I’d been there, but also because I would be seeing a new oncologist.

Front of the building

Since being diagnosed with breast cancer, I’ve seen several oncologists. For one reason or another, I hadn’t been with one for more than 2 years. I always found it difficult to see a new doctor but learned to develop a “nutshell” version of my medical history to present at each visit.

When I arrived at the cancer center, I lucked up and found a parking space close to the front door. The parking lot was packed and I was grateful, especially since I’d been having a lot of knee problems and walking was difficult.

As I entered the building, I wasn’t prepared for the anxious feelings that suddenly overwhelmed me. Standing in the lobby, I looked around. Some things were familiar but many things had changed.

At the registration desk, I received a schedule of my appointments for the day. It was going to be a long day. I would start the day with a visit to the lab, then I’d see a nurse for assessment before seeing the oncologist. After the oncologist, I’d see a naturopath and finally, I’d end the day in the physical therapy department as I was re-evaluated for lymphedema treatment.

First waiting room area

The lab visit was quick and a skilled nurse found the vein in my hand quickly. It would be an hour before my next appointment, so I found an empty chair in a quiet hallway and sat down to read. As I waited, I watched patients come and go. I felt uncomfortable. I didn’t look like the other breast cancer patients. I looked healthy and strong while they were evidently in various stages of treatment. Pushing down my feelings of survivor’s guilt, I continued to vacillate between reading my book and looking at my watch.

When the time came for me to head toward the oncology department, my anxiety eased a bit as I saw a familiar face. One of the administrative staff greeted me with a big smile and said, “I remember you!” Instantly, her kindness put my heart at ease.

Soon I was called back to meet with the new nurse. After a brief visit with her, I was placed in an exam room to await my new oncologist.

When the oncologist entered, she briefly introduced herself and then turned to introduce me to her scribe and a nurse. I was surprised to have 3 people attending me.

The doctor pulled up my medical records on her computer screen and began to read about my case. As she recanted the information to me, I was surprised when she said, “So I see here you underwent reconstruction…” Immediately, I interrupted her and said, “No. I did not.” She looked shocked that she’d received incorrect information. Though I was hesitant to correct her, I wanted to make sure my record accurately reflected my cancer journey.

Waiting room for the naturopath

 

After getting familiar with my case, the doctor asked about my current symptoms and whether I was having any problems. I mentioned a growth I’d found at my left clavicle. She quickly palpated it and ordered an ultrasound. I was glad she was concerned and proactive.

Next, I was sent to the naturopath. He met with me for about twenty minutes and gave ideas on how to combat my chronic insomnia. I enjoyed talking with him and left with a sheet of paper listing several companies that provided CBD products he thought would be helpful.

One thing I like about the cancer treatment center was its integrative and holistic approach to treatment.

View of the parking lot from the rooftop

 

The next stop was the physical therapy department. A new therapist asked about my lymphedema and went over treatment options. As she talked, I smiled and told her I’d been dealing with this for 9 years and I was very familiar with manual lymphatic drainage, dry brushing, and using compression garments. She laughed and said, “So this is really old hat to you?” I nodded and she told me to keep on doing what I was doing and I wouldn’t need to see her again unless something changed. 

After all my appointments, I wanted a few minute to decompress so I went up the secret elevator (the one only patients know about) that takes you up to the fifth floor. Up there, patients can hang out in a very private, quiet terrace area. I like going up there because usually there's no one there. It's a good thinking spot, but when I got there, two women were sunbathing and I didn't want to disturb them so I picked a quiet corner and took a few minutes to pray before leaving. 

I left the facility feeling conflicted. While I understood the importance of an annual visit, I still hadn’t gotten used to being under surveillance care.

When I first began treatment, I was seeing someone every few months or so. As time went on, my appointments were moved out to about every six months, and now, every year.

It was comforting to know someone was keeping a close watch on me but I would also have to keep a close watch on myself. That’s one reason I’ve learned, over the years, to pay particular attention to my body. Aches and pains are normal parts of aging but there are things that I need to watch like lumps that randomly appear or an increase in lymphatic issues.

from the roof toward the front of the building

The good thing about being under surveillance is knowing I’m only a phone call away from medical care. Though I won’t see the oncologist every few months, I’ll always see my primary care physician multiple times a year. If there’s something I’m not sure about, I can always ask his opinion first and if he thinks it’s something cancer-related, he’ll refer me back to the oncologist.

5th floor roof terrace hangout for patients

 

 

 

 

Being under surveillance takes some getting used to. I like the freedom of knowing I don’t have to report in for treatment constantly but I’m not quite used to returning to my post-cancer life. I guess all good things come in time but I still don’t understand why the oncologist won’t say I’m completely cured. In my heart, I don’t believe cancer will ever be a part of my life again even if cancer care continues to be.

It’s such a blessing to know I can finally live my life without the constant fear of recurrence. It’s taken me 9 years to get to this point but boy, it sure feels good.

I'm feeling enlightened

I was reading an article on the internet yesterday about a book written by author Scott Haas, entitled Why Be Happy. The article and premise of his book discussed the Japanese practice called ukeireru, which in essence means acceptance. It's the art of pausing and accepting the situations life throws at us before deciding upon a course of action. 

The more I read, the more I realized I've been in the process of experiencing this type of skill for the past year or so and didn't even know there was a label for it. 

At the end of last year, I decided, after a series of illnesses, that I needed to finally slow down and enjoy life. For the past 64 years I'd lived my life at breakneck speed trying to cram as much as possible into every single day, but that process was tiring and I wasn't fully enjoying life. 

One day, while I was having a cup of an exotic tea I ordered from an English tea house, I sat at my kitchen table doing nothing other than savoring that cuppa. I focused on the feel of the bone china in my hand. It's smooth, cool sides felt sturdy yet fragile at the same time. The warm, heady aroma of the tea wafted up toward my nostrils. As I breathed in deeply, I closed my eyes imagining every floral note in technicolor. When I brought the cup to my lips, I slowly parted them, anticipating the rich flavors. As the heat from the liquid touched my tongue, my senses came alive and I realized I was finally learning to savor and enjoy the simple pleasure of a cup of tea. How had I missed it all these years?And what else had I been missing. 

My world had drastically changed since being diagnosed with cancer. It was as if I'd been given a new lease on life. I was thankful to have a second chance to do things right, but often, as I went about my daily life, I tackled routine chores mindlessly. When we took small trips, I did my best to enjoy them and see things in a different light, but it wasn't always easy. 

I'm a typical type A personality, always have been and probably always will be. I'm a high achiever, a go getter, a hurry up and wait kind of person who lacks the patience of Job. I knew it was going to take time and energy to master the art of being in the moment or learning to be grounded as some liked to call it. Apparently, for the Japanese, this wasn't a learned technique, it was a given, a daily way of life. Why was it so easy for them to "get" and so hard for me? 

The art of  ukeireru bases acceptance as a way of life that offers potential for change. Apparently, that means the Japanese people just kind of "go with the flow." They don't stress about things, instead, they fully experience them. 

Wow. 

As I've gotten older, I realize I'm on the downhill side of things. With the time I have left, I want to slow down and embrace the concept of fully being where I am, doing exactly what I'm doing at the time, without feeling anxious or stressed about anything. 

I guess the best way to do that is to become more intentional about paying attention to the little things in life. 

It may sound silly to "fully experience" a cup of tea when I could just as easily gulp it down in a few minutes and move on to the next thing, but for the past few weeks, I've found I really enjoy this little ritual I've set up for myself. So much so that I've started buying fancy tea cups and unique types of tea. I've given myself permission to have a cuppa whenever I choose and when I do, I sit with it and slowly experience it fully. 

They say you can't teach an old dog new tricks, but I believe they're wrong. If this old lady can learn the art of ekeireru, then I'd say 64 years of missing out was well worth it. At least I have a few more years, knock on wood, to see what else I can fully give my acceptance to. 

Today, I'm planning on finding more ways to engage with my life. It's become a unique perspective and I'm feeling like I'm slowly waking from deep sleep. It almost reminds me of some days back in the 70s when an altered state of consciousness was achieved from a few drags on a hand rolled cigarette, if you know what I mean. Anyway, I digress. 

Ekeireru is still new to me and it's probably something that's new to you, too. Learning to fully embrace experiences, relationships, and daily life shouldn't be something we have to be taught to do. It should come naturally. I wonder why Americans have such a hard time with this?

One Step Forward & One Step Back

 I finally got the results from the stomach biopsies last week but was so busy I forgot to blog about it, so please forgive me.Thankfully, I was right. It ended up being no news was good news. 

When the doctor called to give me the report, I was so happy to hear him say they were benign tumors and we'd just keep an eye on them. Whew! I felt like I dodged a big bullet. That was my one step forward because knowing I wasn't going to immediately face another cancer diagnosis, I felt a huge weight lifted from my shoulders, or should I say belly? Lol!

But after that phone call, I got to thinking. Was I really getting the kind of surveillance care I needed? After a cancer diagnosis, patients need to be kept under a watchful eye. Routine tests need to be performed and everything that can be done to prevent a possible recurrence needs to be done. I'm coming up on my 9th year post cancer and while I'm extremely blessed to be able to say that, since changing back to my old oncology group, I was only being seen once a year. That didn't quite seem enough in my book. I felt like I should at least be seen every six months. 

A niggling little feeling kept at me and I decided to reach out to the cancer treatment center I'd gone to for 5 years before. Let me give a little back history, in case you're new to the blog and don't know the details. 

When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I'd just moved to a new city and didn't know any doctors so I had to look on the internet for oncologists in my area. After finding the closest ones to me, I became a patient in their practice and got good care until my doctor, Dr. F, decided to leave that group and go with another hospital in a neighboring city. At that time, I tried a couple of other doctors in the group but they were much older and ready for retirement. I wanted a doctor who was going to be around a while and was pleasantly surprised when a new cancer treatment center was built just about ten miles from my home. 

 I contacted the center and liked the fact that everything was in one building - doctors offices, imaging services, physical therapy, chemotherapy and radiation therapies, a nutritionist, chiropractor, acupuncturist, naturopath, dietician, library, and religious services. It was a one stop shop! With my old oncologist, if I'd need any scans or tests, I always had to go to another facility and sometimes it was very inconvenient.

The doctor I was seeing at the cancer treatment center, Dr. H, specialized in breast cancer and hematology but not long after I'd gotten established with him, he left and started a practice in another state. At that point, I was randomly assigned to another oncologist just before Covid hit. 

The first time I saw that doctor, Dr. M, I went to the facilty for an in person meeting but was surprised when I first had an "interview" via an iPad. It was weird to sit in an exam room with a chair in front of me staring at a screen as the doctor asked me questions. When he felt like I was "safe to approach in person," he came into the room but stay on the other side far away from me. Through a masked face, he asked a few questions and left shortly after. To say I felt slighted was a huge understatement. 

The day after that experience, I contacted the cancer treatment center and told them I didn't want to see Dr. M again. I requested a new doctor, one that would treat me as a valued patient. But somehow, I slipped through the cracks and kept getting the run around every time I called back to schedule an appointment. I had no idea what was going on and tried to get back in for several months before finally giving up and going back to the first practice I'd had care under. 

I was received there and assigned to Dr. P, a young, cordial doctor who felt like I could see him annually and do okay. 

In the meantime, the cancer treatment center was bought by an organization called City of Hope and a lot of positive changes were made.

One day, while checking my emails, I came across an email from a woman I remembered from the cancer treatment center. Her name was Kelly and she was a patient outreach coordinator. In her message, she asked how I was doing and if there was anything she could do to help me. I was surprised to get her message, especially since I'd tried for months to get an appointment there. Explaining the situation to her, I sent a reply. The following day, she messaged back and said she'd forwarded my message on to another staff member and she assured me I'd hear back soon. Within a couple of days, I got a phone call and the ball started rolling fast. 

To make a long story shorter, I was scheduled for a screening phone call and then a telehealth appointment with an intern there. After answering a gazillion questions, I was given an actual appointment with a new oncologist, Dr. S. Not only was I given a new appointment, I was also scheduled to have lab work done, to meet with the naturopath, and to meet with the occupational therapist all on the same day! Talk about a difference of service and attention! 

My new oncologist

Going back to the cancer treatment center, which was now called the City of Hope was a step back but not really. It felt kind of like I was doing a medical tango going from one doctor to another over the years, but there are no rules in cancer care. It's okay to do what's best for you. 

Sometimes it's necessary to make changes to your medical staff, especially if you feel you're not getting the care you need. I've found, over the years, I am my own best advocate. And I've learned to listen to that still little voice that speaks to my heart telling me when I need to do something different. 

9 years is a long time to survive cancer. This July 9th, I'll celebrate that milestone and I'm looking forward to celebrating year after year in the future. 

Although it seems I've been through the alphabet when it comes to doctors and I've had to adjust to new technologies in the way they're doing things now, I think I'm on the right track. I'm looking forward to meeting Dr. S this coming Wednesday. 

It will feel kind of odd to be back in the old cancer treatment center, but it will feel good, too. I know exactly where everything is there. I won't be scared, like I was when I first started going there. I'm thankful I felt led to keep pushing until I got what I wanted and needed. Getting the best health care possible is so important to someone who'd been through cancer. 

A fear of recurrence is always something we struggle with.  That reminds me, when I was having the telehealth appointment with the intern from City of Hope, he told me that he'd also been through cancer and was currently celebrating his 16th year of being cancer free. As we were talking, I asked him if the fear of recurrence ever goes away. He said, "It will with time." That gave me hope that I won't always struggled with these feelings. You'd think I'd be over those feelings by now, but I'm not. Every time I have any kind of physical malady, my first thought is, "Oh No! The cancer's back." I know it's not health to think like that, but it's exactly how I feel. Cancer does a number on your body, but also on your mind. Being a survivor means you have to find a way to push through those "what if" moments each day as they come and that takes a lot of will power.

The Waiting Game

 Nobody likes playing the waiting game, especially not me! I'm a very impatient person and don't have time to waste on waiting, but sometimes, we don't have a choice. Wait we must. Especially when it comes to lab results and other medical tests. Then, we're at the mercy of a phone call or a piece of paper that comes in the mail. 

7-10 days. That's what the doctor said right after he'd completed my stomach biopsies. It's a disconcerting thing to say to someone who's already been through cancer. Naturally, one thinks the worst. Though I try not to, my mind instantly goes to the "what if" zone. What if I get the news that I've got cancer again? What would I do? How would I react? Would I do things differently this time around? Would I opt for chemotherapy instead of foregoing it? And the answer is a big, fat I DON'T KNOW! 

Not knowing how I'd react bothers me. Of course, I'd want to be aggressive. I'd want to do whatever necessary to live as long as possible, but how would I know if I was making the right decision? How does anyone for that matter? All we have to go on is whatever our doctors tell us. And we trust them. We trust them because they have more medical expertise than we could ever dream of but then, some of us, ones like me, start digging. We do our homework. We look at unconventional methods of treatment, grasping at straws, hoping upon hope for something that won't be as damaging to our bodies while still letting us live. 

I don't want to go there. I don't want to think about the possibility of cancer again. I've already been there. I've done my time. But I'm no dummy. I know there are no guarantees it won't come back again some day. 

Why does it have to be that way? Why can't cancer be a once and done kind of thing? Why can't we have a zap it, kill it, and be done with it mentality? Maybe because there's too much money to be made in dragging out the treatment...hmmmmm... What do you think? 

Of course it's a racket! There are big bucks to be made in cancer care. And since we don't have a cure or even know exactly what causes most cancers, we wing it. 

Today is the 10th day since the biopsies were performed. I am holding the doctor to his word. I'll be watching the mail like a hawk today and hopefully, I'll get good news. My husband says if there was bad news, the doctor would have already called and he's probably right. That old addage, "no news is good news," has been true in the past for so many things. 

My gut instinct says it's probably nothing serious but my mind says, "You can't be sure." 

So I wait. 

Please keep me in your prayers. But don't pray for patience! They say when you pray for patience you get tribulations to teach you patience. I don't want or need any more trials, thank you very much! 

I'll keep you posted and thanks in advance for your prayers. Have a blessed day!

Contemplation

 Sitting outside as the sun began to dip below the horizon, thoughts were swirling around in my head. It had been a challenging day. 

I woke up at 1:00 a.m. as the cpap machine blasted cool air in my face. Quickly pulling off the mask, I got up to check the machine. It still had plenty of water in the reservoir. I wondered why the sudden blast of air. Had I quit breathing? I made a mental note to check later in the day. 

After taking a restroom break, I crawled back into bed, reaffixed the cpap mask and drifted back to sleep. I slept until a little after 4:00 a.m. and was jolted awake from an odd dream. I lay back down and tried to get back to sleep. Finally, after about half an hour of restlessness, I got up and grabbed my headphones. I pulled up a YouTube video by one of my favorite ministries and listened until I dozed off. I slept until just before 7:00 a.m. and was able to silence my alarm before it went off. 

I was having an upper endoscopy at 9:30 a.m. This would be the third one I'd had done in the past year and a half. I wasn't looking forward to it. 

My husband had taken the day off. Since I'd be under anesthesia for a little while, they didn't want me to drive. I was glad he was with me. He's such a calming presence. 

When we reached the hospital, the parking lot was full. I was surprised to see that so many people were already there and wondered if they were visiting patients or if they were patients themselves. 

The nurses on the gastroenterology floor were extremely nice. I was thankful they were attentive and kind. 

Soon it was time for the needle stick, the part I always dread. It's so hard for nurses to find a vein in the back of my hand. Those veins are very tiny. Although she tried twice, she finally had to move a little higher up on my arm using a vein scanner to find one big enough for the I.V. 

I was wheeled down the hall into the procedure room and met another nurse, the anesthesiologist and the doctor. I was unusually calm and knew it must be from all the friends that were praying for me. 

The nurse helped me get turned over onto my left side and placed a device in my mouth that would keep it open for the procedure. Then the anesthesiologist placed oxygen over my nose and mouth as she injected a white liquid into the I.V. She told me to take a couple of deep breaths and I don't even know if I made it to the second one before I was out. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the recovery room. 

A nurse sat at the foot of the bed monitoring my vital signs. She saw I was waking and asked how I was feeling. When I tried to speak, my throat was so sore I could barely croak out any words. 

I don't know how long I lay there before the doctor came in but when he did, I made a point of listening hard so I could remember what he was about to say. I was still feeling groggy and didn't want to miss anything. 

He told me he'd done several biopsies and he should have the results back in a week or so. He told me not to worry and to call his office with any questions. Then he left and the nurse began to remove the I.V. and told me I could get ready to go home. 

An orderly came to wheel me downstairs to the car. On the way down, I asked her how many patients they would see that day. She said the average was seventy. I was surprised.seventy endoscopies or colonoscopies a day seemed like a lot for an 8 hour period. 

I hadn't had anything solid to eat for almost 3 days and I was famished. My sweet hubby had promised to get my favorite, Chinese food, on the way home. 

We got home and I ate a little. I didn't want to overload my stomach, especially since I'd just had that procedure done and my throat felt like someone had taken sandpaper to it. 

In the back of my mind, I keep wondering how I'll react if the doctor tells me they found cancer. I don't know if I can go through that again. 

Since being diagnosed in 2014, it seems that thought has haunted me continually and I don't know how to get rid of it. 

I tell myself all the time that I'm not supposed to worry about anything - God tells me that in His Word, but sometimes, my flesh is weak and I can't help it. 

I don't think I'll be able to fully relax until I get the all clear from the doctor. 

My inbox holds an unread email regarding the upcoming annual National Cancer Survivor's Day. I've celebrated it every year since 2015, the year after I was diagnosed. This year, I'm not too keen on participating. I don't know why. I'm just kind of tired of cancer and everything to do with it.

We take so much for granted

Breakfast. Some eat it and some don't. I fall into the first category, believing that the day’s first meal is important. My husband, on the other hand, falls into the second. He doesn't like to eat first thing in the morning but would rather wait until lunchtime for his first meal. It's a personal preference and I don't fault him for wanting to wait while I prefer to eat something within the first hour of waking. We have our routines. But when my routine gets disrupted, I'm not a happy camper. 

I was slated for medical testing this morning. The doctor's office said I couldn't have anything to eat or drink after midnight. Since I don't stay up that late, my last sip of water was when I brushed my teeth, right before bed. I figured I could go without food for a while. I've fasted many times before but knew the water was going to be hard to do without. I've been dealing with a dry mouth and blocked salivary glands for months now and it's been a real challenge. 

So, I got up this morning and instantly realized I couldn't drink a cool glass of water like I wanted to because it would interfere with the test and I wasn't going to be able to have breakfast either. Rats! My mouth was so dry. I not only wanted a drink, but I also needed one! But since I couldn't afford to screw up the test by breaking the rules, I did everything I could think of to distract myself until time to go. I read my Bible and prayed. I checked my emails. I perused Facebook. I looked at the clock and waited. 

Finally, when the time to go came, my husband drove me to the hospital. We got checked in and sat in the waiting room. I watched the people that came and went while we waited. All were masked, a hospital requirement, but I could see their eyes and most of them looked concerned. None of us wanted to be there. 

Shortly after 9:00 AM, I was called back. The radiologist had asked if I liked applesauce and I said yes. He took a tube of radioactive liquid and injected it into the applesauce then told me to eat it. He said I wouldn't taste it so not to worry. 

The first bite I took was amazing. The cool, wetness of the applesauce tantalized my tongue. I wanted to eat a gallon of it! I was so hungry and so thirsty, mostly thirsty. After a couple of spoonfuls, he stopped me and asked me to lie on the table beneath the scanning machine. I won't lie. I was miffed. I wanted to finish my little lunch-sized container of applesauce. Poo! Instead, I did as I was told and climbed up onto the bed/table beneath the scanner and waited to be slowly inserted into the machine. 

There was a video screen just above and to the right of my head. I could see the image as the scanner moved over my stomach. There, in my esophagus, was a brightly illuminated area - the radioactive applesauce. After the image was captured, I was slipped out from under the scanner and told to wait in the waiting room for 90 minutes. At precisely 10:30, the radiologist said he'd come back and get me for another scan. 

Sitting in the waiting room, my mouth felt so dry. Those 2 bites of applesauce haven’t helped quench my thirst. Across the room was a water fountain. Oh, how I wanted to go take a long, luxurious gulp but I knew I couldn't. I'd asked the radiologist, after the scan, if I could have a drink of water. He'd said, "No, will alter the test results, and we don't want that." No, we didn't want that. 

As time ticked on, I became more and more aware of my thirst. My mouth felt like the Sahara Desert. My salivary gland on the left side wasn't working and hadn't been for months. Normally, I'd have been able to use the Biotene moisturizing mouthwash and lozenges the ENT had prescribed to help with the situation, but not so today. It was a wretched feeling to be thirsty and not be able to drink. That's when I thought of the thousands of people in Turkey and Syria. As I was feeling sorry for myself, I thought, "My situation is temporary. I'll be able to get a big glass of water right after this stuff is over, but they won't."

We got home and I had the biggest, longest drink of water I think I've ever had in my life. As I was enjoying it, Phil flipped on the TV. A news report said Turkey’s and Syria’s death toll has risen to 11,000. My heart dropped. I watched as images of rubble and devastation were displayed. The camera scanned the area revealing hundreds of homeless people lifting debris in hopes of finding survivors. All I could think was how cold and tired and hungry they must be, but more than that, how very thirsty they must be. 

Where would they get water? And how many days would they go without it? Would they resort to drinking from puddles or creeks if they could find one? Would aid workers to come with trucks full of bottled water? 

We need water to survive. Every single day we need water. Water is life. Without it, one can only survive about 3 days although there have been instances where people have survived longer periods. Our bodies crave water to regulate our temperature and feed our cells. 

We take access to clean water for granted. So many don't have that right. I pray, the next time you bring a cup to your lips before you even take one sip, you'll thank God for the gift of clean water and think about all those who are longing for refreshment. 

Can you imagine going for days and days without water? I can't. Fourteen hours without water just about did me in. Worse than going without physical water for me would be going without living water. Though my physical body will thirst again and again, my spirit is always quenched with the living water Christ provides. 

John 7: 37-39 says, "Let anyone who is thirsty come to me and drink. Whoever believes in me, as Scripture has said, rivers of living water will flow from within them." Living water? In this passage, Jesus was referring to the Holy Spirit whom His followers had yet to receive but would shortly after He had been glorified.

The well of Living Water never runs dry because it's fed by God. Our wells, rivers, lakes, and streams can dry up if conditions aren't right. One gives temporary refreshment while the other gives eternal refreshment. Which would you rather have? I'd rather have the one I know will never run out! What about you?

They grow up too fast!

 

Items she collected on our walk

There's nothing sadder than watching the innocence of childhood come to an end. 

This weekend, while spending time with one of my granddaughters, I realized she's not a little girl any longer. 

At 9 years of age, the changes have come subtly but this weekend, as I watched her, I realized she's teetering on the edge of teenage life. 

I'm thankful for the time I get to spend with her. It isn't a lot, usually once a month and at major holidays and birthdays. I'd love to have more but I'll take what I can get at this point. 

We did a lot of things while she was here. I always try to find fun ways to keep her entertained without plopping her in front of the TV. 

The first thing we did was a science experiment. We talked about density, volume, and air. I used a bar of regular soap and a bar of Ivory soap to help give her a visual explanation. She laughed as we put the bar of regular soap in the bowl of water and it immediately sank to the bottom. Then, stood in awe watching the bar of Ivory float. Next, we took a bar of Ivory and put it in the microwave. I pulled up a chair so she could watch as the changes took place. Her eyes grew big as saucers as the soap began to expand filling my microwave with lush white clouds. When we took it out, I let her hold it. "It's light as a feather," she exclaimed. Then, I showed her how quickly the cloud would disappear if she crumbled it in her hands. The soap instantly became soap flakes. 

We went outside and did a nature walk where we discovered 5 garden slugs beneath the downspouts. She was intrigued with them and asked if we could pick them up. I found a piece of an old wooden slat and showed her how to gently lift a slug without harming it. 

She studied that slug for a long time, watching it move slowly across a piece of bark leaving a shiny, slimy trail. She looked up at me and said, "Gigi, do you know slugs are Gastropods?" I was amazed at this little one. Of course, she's very intelligent and loves to watch any and everything about nature, but she's always taken a special interest in insects and other small creatures since she was a tiny thing. 

I sat beside her and together we watched the slug maneuver his way up and then down the leaf of an Iris plant. Her eyes twinkled as she asked me how slugs move without any legs. I had a chance to teach her about the muscle contractions some animals and insects use and realized, though we were just outside enjoying nature, we were also having quite a homeschool lesson. 

We came inside after our adventure and I taught her how to make homemade play dough. I'd made it for her in the past but I'd always done all the measuring and cooking. This time, I allowed her that honor giving instructions as she worked. 

The precious memories we made that day are priceless. I know it won't be long before she won't care about taking nature walks with her Gigi and she'll be more interested in clothes and makeup than studying slugs. It makes me sad to think those days are coming to an end, but that's life. She has to grow up even if I don't want her to.