Christmas Letter 2013
Dear Friends,
It is my custom at this time of year to celebrate with my friends by giving them the gift of self — to share some of what the last year has brought for me.
This year I am celebrating Christmas for the 52nd time in my life. Normally, I would be wishing for a white Christmas, but this year I will be in Mexico on Christmas Day, so the closest I’m likely to get is the sand on the beach near the house we are renting. When I say we, I am referring to my friend Mary — more about her later. Since I’m going to Mexico with someone, I will not be hanging my traditional bikini by the fireplace (in hopes that Santa will fill it).
I would definitely have to say that of the years of this millennium, this one has been one of the best. Not that it hasn’t had challenges, but as I sit here writing on Thanksgiving Eve, I find that I have more to be thankful for than in many years.
Phoenix, my service dog, is coming along in her training. I just wish my health were better so I could devote more energy to training her. She is really becoming a service dog. Last Christmas Eve, she became a medical alert dog. She warned me I was starting one of my episodes. I talk to her all the time, and that evening while preparing my traditional Christmas Eve seafood fettuccine, she started staring at me like she didn’t understand. I realized part of my face had stopped working, and by morning I needed my cane to walk when I went to see Les Mis, which opened that day.
I am also doing well with the training. In fact, they have asked me to be an “Apprentice.” So I help with — and sometimes run — the classes.
Last year Comet ISON was discovered, and by spring I had decided I wanted to do my best to see it. I’ve always loved comets, but I’ve only seen three in my life. So I planned a trip to Maui to see it in early December when it would be at its brightest and closest to the sun. I rented a cottage halfway up Haleakalā and was planning to drive to the summit each night to observe.
In October, I was checking LinkedIn and found an invitation — from over a year ago — from an old and very dear friend, Mary. We went to the University of Phoenix together and were study partners. During that time we became very close; in fact, I’d say she became one of the closest friends I’ve ever had. Many of my fondest memories involve her: the time I asked her to see Phantom of the Opera and she literally screamed and ran around the room with excitement; or the Christmas night I spent at her place. But after graduation, we lost touch, and I have always regretted it.
I was very surprised by her invitation and quickly responded YES. It took a few weeks, but we began writing to each other again. She lives just three hours away near Seattle, so one weekend I drove up and saw her for the first time in over 20 years.
Now we write to each other almost daily — usually more than once a day. Recently, while talking on the phone, she said, “Why don’t you come with me to Mazatlán?” And when a lady asks you a question like that, there is only one answer: “OK.”
So I rebooked my flight, canceled Maui, and I will be spending my vacation with one of the most beautiful and wonderful people it has ever been my pleasure to know.
(And yes, I still hoped to see the comet from home or in Mexico. Note: It’s now Thanksgiving afternoon as I’m printing these letters, and NASA reports the comet did not survive its closest approach to the sun.)
How has my health been? Not good. Some patterns are developing: each month I know that the week after my treatment will be iffy. Then I have my “good week.” Then I start getting worse leading up to the next treatment. Last year treatments were every four weeks; this year they want to push to every five.
The cancer is still present according to the blood work. My endocrinologist is worried and considering another round of radioactive iodine — the full deal, including going hypo. I really don’t think I can face that again for the third time, and I’m not sure my body can handle it either. Unless they talk me off the ledge, I’m going to take my chances with the cancer. At the moment it is slow-growing, and we can likely cut it out if it gets too big. The dangers are if it metastasizes somewhere we can’t remove it, or if it changes into a fast-growing kind.
Well, as usual, I am hoping that next year will be better than this one.
I want to thank all of you for your support, friendship, prayers, and for being you — my friends.
And as Tiny Tim said, “God bless us, everyone!”
Love,
Odell
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