Kage Baker was an intensely private person. It’s how she managed to conceal, for almost a year, the condition that was finally diagnosed as late stage uterine cancer. It was a foolish choice, that modesty; but Kage did the best she could with the hand she was dealt. I never heard her blame anyone for the fact that her cancer won. The last year of her life was marked more than anything else by good humour, patience, fortitude and determination.
She left her stories to me to tell after she was gone, which I have been endeavouring to do. I’ve never intended this blog to be a soap box, or a diary, or a private stage. It’s not about me, except as I was -and am – part of Kage’s unique and still-evolving world. She’s still telling the tales she originally came up with through a lifetime of summer afternoons and long drives. She’s just telling them through the notes and fragments she left behind. And I just focus them through the facets of our very odd shared life.
Occasionally, of course, my own life does interfere – I mean, power failures, illness, cats lairing somewhere in the computer system – these are things that happen in the present; they inevitably get wound into what I write here. Kage took her inspirations from reality; a somewhat subjective one, I admit, but still – she wrote what she saw. And, trained by her, so do I.
Reality sometimes turns downright crappy, though, Dear Readers. Tomorrow I must get up early – which is bad enough on a Monday – for a doctor’s appointment. This is because, despite my advancing years and very definite post-menopausal condition, my body seems to have lost track of the time. It thinks I should be menstruating. Since I know I shouldn’t, and since I have no more modesty than a cat, and since I learned a dreadful lesson from Kage – I will be off to submit to a biopsy.
Dear Readers, you have been very patient with my foibles and occasional collapses as Kage’s amenuensis. I’m not asking for attention here, not even kind thoughts – just letting you know that I am feeling a bit stressed and may not have much to say for a few days.
On the other hand, I may babble my brains out. Who knows? I don’t. But I’ll return to this as soon as I can.
Talk to you all later –
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Please accept some kind wishes anyway? A friend of what I guess to be a similar age to yours had a similar horrid symptom last month, but after dealing with her own scary thoughts and some medical doom-and-gloom, she had the biopsy and behold! all was well, nobody home, etc. I will hope with all my heart that you have a similar result.
Thanks, Margaret. It’s the most common thing to go wrong at my age … and usually quite easy to handle. It’s just got a huge “Oh, you gotta be kidding!” quotient attached, you know?
My thoughts and prayers are with you Kathleen! I am going through the exact same thing. We shall suffer the indignities of failing and/or misfiring body parts together. Hang in there!
Oh, Catharine – then you’re on my candle list,too! Almost the worst part so far was waking up in the middle of the night to that horrible sensation of “Oh, damn it, got caught out.” Then my mind woke up enough to remember I am nearly 60, and there was a HUGE wave of WTF?!? I had sworn off cramps, you know? I do not welcome them back!
Oh my dear! Okay, I’ll say it. I’m sure it’s nothing, but I’m glad you’re wasting no time making sure. I’ll be thinking of you with hugs.
Maggie
Thanks, Maggie – I am sure it’s nothing, too. Almost sure. Gonna make sure.This is just ridiculous!
We will light many candles here for you. Thank you for having the courage to tell us.
Mary Lynn and Tom
No more hideous surprises, Mary Lynn. At least, not if I can help it.
Got a candle lit in the window for you.
Thanks for the candle, Widdershins. I have a great faith in candles.
Thank you for letting us know. I agree with everybody that (a) it’s probably nothing- I’m older than you and had a few such oddities and they were nothing- and (b) you are very wise to make sure. Good thoughts for you, also prayers.
I hate getting old…wierd stuff starts happening to our bodies that shouldn’t be happening… but it beats the alternative. Sending good thoughts anyway for the joy you give me each and (almost) every day with your blog entries and in the past.
Blessings to you.
You are the exemplification of the axiom that crones do not whine. I honor you for it.
I second the motion!
I hope that by now you know what is and isn’t going on. My thoughts are with you and candles are lit. Please let us know when you find out you’re ok. Best wishes.
As my sainted mother is fond of saying, “Getting old’s a bitch.”
Here’s hoping that all is well.
{{{{Kate}}}}
Hope everything went well and there were no ‘surprises’ following the procedures. Take care and time to recover from the biopsy. We, your Loyal Readership, will be patient and all the happier when you are up to posting again, in your own good time.
Hugs and Best Wishes always.
*L*
I hope everything went fine and the news is that everything is OK.
Cosset yourself, rest, and we’ll hope for good news.
I agree with Luisa and everyone – Candles and warm thoughts for good news. I know they insist on taking 1-2 weeks to return the lab results, so here’s to patience, and some good wine for the cramps!
We will all be here in the waiting room going thru the old magazines, and reading the yellowed posters.
Of course take all the time you need. Your readers? We’re very patient.
I truly hope you’re all right! My thoughts and prayers are with you and please, get plenty of rest!
Wishing you wellness, and hopes that this can get sorted out – and you are back soon sharing your wonderful writing and thoughts.
Been through my share of “female issues”. Candle lit.
Sending hugs from Florida!
Here’s hoping everything is all right – and if not, that the prescription involves lots of chocolate.