Time and Tide
Here it comes again. Right on time. Twice a day. It’s been coming in here like this for about 15,000 years, soon after the glaciers receded, leaving the rocks, sediment, and kettle ponds behind. Sometimes the incoming tide is dramatic. Sometimes it rolls in very quietly, and you only notice it as it begins to surround as you sit in a chair, reading about how the world seems to be coming apart. A lot depends upon the wind, the weather and the moon.
I can run into the water. I can drive into the waves. I can hold on to my grandson as he gets too enthusiastic. There are rip-tides out here. These days there are sharks. I can’t do anything about it. I can only watch. I tell my grandson that when we leave The Cape, it’s my job to shut off the water, and stop it from it’s daily comings and goings. But that really isn’t true. The tide keeps coming in and going out, every day, twice a day, no matter who is watching or which tree falls in a forest. It will go on for at least another 15,000 years, but probably not here, as the Cape will probably be washed away long before then.
I can’t do anything to change this, or stop the tides. I can explain what is going on to my grandchildren, and each year they will understand more and more. The older ones are already become more aware that many things in the world ebb and flow. They see that things can change quickly without a clear reason why. Sadly, they are learning that they can’t trust everyone, and not everyone is watching out for them. Their parents try to prevent them from watching the news. When they see it they are full of questions, mostly, “Why is that man so mean?”
I am trying, in my own limited ways, to do something about “that man,” and those who support his mean words and actions. There may be enough of us working to do that. There are signs that together we can turn that tide. We won’t know for sure for another six weeks.
My own efforts will be put on pause for a while. Tomorrow I am going in for surgery. As I have written here, I was diagnosed with breast cancer last Christmas, and now the time has come to cut out the remaining bad cells that are in my body.
I’ve been taking Tamoxifen for nine months. From the tests and scans it looks like the drug has done it’s job. The tumors have shrunk and so far, there are no indications that anything has spread to anywhere else in my body. That is good, but not definite yet.
Nothing comes without a price however. The longer I took the drug the more side-effects crept into my life. They were not terrible. Not enough to make me stop taking it, but enough to make me feel limited. I got frequent muscle cramps, and those cramps would pull other muscles out of line. For most of the summer my knees hurt, my back would hurt, and my neck would hurt. To some degree that was always true, just from arthritis, but this was worse, and more constant. Also, it made everything more difficult. I would have the idea that I should walk to the beach or ride my bike, things I really enjoy doing. But I would just sit there and not move. I had to consciously push myself to get up and go. My dreams were also much more vivid and involving. Not upsetting, but engrossing to the point that when I awoke I had to figure out which of my states was reality. Weird. Never had that before.
A few days ago I was told to stop taking the Tamoxifen. Now, I feel how striking the difference is. I may be told to go back on it after the surgery. I don’t want to. We’ll have to talk to several doctors. No one really has done any research on men. There are too few of us who get breast cancer.
It is with some apprehension that I go tomorrow for surgery. I realize that very few people suffer greatly from this kind of operation. Still, I am older, and I often feel like the staircase that goes down to the beach and has been battered by the tide. I believe that I will be rebuilt again, but I know that the tide will keep coming in and battering me. Many of my friends are also showing signs of the effects of time and tides. Several are up to their waist in the waves, and the waves keep coming.
It is also clear that the political tides keep ebbing and flowing. Bad things come rushing in like a tidal wave. Eventually, the tide turns and the wave pulls out. Yet, things are never the same. It is much easier to destroy than create. Many institutions get battered and broken. Many people who were with us suffer or die. Then the next tide comes in slowly, and the world moves on.
So, good luck to me and my surgery. Thanks. I want to be there when I open my eyes.
Until then, I leave you with this little bit that explains much of what I want to say with a good musical accompaniment, thanks to Chris and Loudon.
