Eclipsed

We'd been planning to go somewhere near the Four Corners area for this year's annular solar eclipse since The Great American Eclipse back in 2017.

Back in April, I got to watch the Australian solar eclipse live as it happened. Via YouTube, of course. I’d set the television up for Lizard to watch (without sound), and he’d fallen asleep. I didn’t know the exact time of totality, and I wasn’t watching the clock anyway. I’d just finished up a big project for work, and I was ready to work on my crochet temperature project. I could have rewound the video to watch the eclipse after it finished. But God guided me into the living room the moment totality was happening. It was so cool to watch as it happened! Every bit as exciting as it was when we watched the moon block the sun live in person at the Colorado/Wyoming border back in 2017.

I'm so thankful for modern technology. I'm so thankful to work from home, which forced me to upgrade our internet, which allowed me to watch an eclipse on the other side of the world as it happened. I'm so thankful for my Heavenly Father’s timing. I actually was even thankful for the silenced television and the nighttime silence of our house because it reminded me of how all the insects stopped buzzing and the birds stopped singing when we watched the 2017 eclipse as it happened. What joyous memories!

My hunger to get as close to the October 2023 Ring of Fire fueled securing time off from work. I made sure I still had my eclipse glasses and eclipse filter for my good camera, the Big Gun. I spent most of the summer dreaming of how wonderful our trip would be.

On September 29, I spent the evening trying to map out where we could go to shoot the eclipse. Back in 2017, we thought perhaps we could get good shots from The Wave or White Pocket if we couldn't get Wave permits. Maybe just somewhere in Vermillion Cliffs.

When NASA released the 2023-24 eclipse paths map, I realized the perfect Ring of Fire would not be visible from that far west. We also had learned there would be an air show in Grand Junction (featuring the Blue Angels!!!) that very same weekend. Lizard LOVES the Blue Angels, and both of us were suffering withdrawals because it had been so long since we'd been able to attend an air show.

While trying to come up with an alternate eclipse-viewing location, I suddenly began to remember the less pleasant aspects of our 2017 adventure.

How long it took to get to our desired venue. How long it took to get back home, even taking side roads far east of the interstate. All the mind-numbing traffic trying to do the same thing. How much Lizard enjoyed the eclipse but hated the commute both ways. Back when HE did all the driving...

I suddenly felt guilty for wanting to go. Wanting to drive so far. Lizard's mom had been telling me for a week or so he could stay with her while I went alone because she had a better grasp on reality than I did at the time. She knew there was no way he could make such a trip now. I didn't want to go alone. I wanted to enjoy the eclipse with him. Like we did last time.

The Ring of Fire's photographic alure began to dissipate as I realized Lizard would not be able to be in the car long enough for me to drive to one of our dream destinations, either Recapture Pocket (which I imagined to be as photogenic as White Pocket) or the Hite area in Canyonlands National Park.

I had told Lizard he could stay at his mom's and watch the airshow from her back porch (which has a great view of the airport) while I headed west, thinking I could get where I wanted to go in about three hours, shoot the eclipse, then get back in about three more hours.

Lizard would be so busy watching the airshow, he wouldn't really have any problems. His mom would be able to help with his medications. But he wasn't terribly comfortable with me going that far alone. I have to confess, it worried me, too. Not just trying to stay awake on the road alone, but trying to stay safe, period. After a bicycle tire blowout following Lizard's second surgery, I'd realized I can no longer engage in risky behavior such as riding my bike 30-plus miles to the office during rush hour traffic. He can't pick me up if I have a problem. I don't want someone else to have to take care of him if something happens to me. I want to be the one taking care of him.

I realized I wouldn't be able to go to the 2023 eclipse. At all. I didn't feel comfortable dumping Lizard's care on his mom for what seriously could be 24 hours or more, but I also don't even want to think about being without him that long. I can't even imagine how he would feel having to depend on his mom full time for that long, especially right now, with his stepdad's special needs. (One surgery a couple of weeks ago and another coming up in a couple of weeks.) (Then, as it turned out, Lizard's stepdad having to be rushed to the hospital again the day after the eclipse...)

About a month ago, Lizard commented out of the blue, "You can't plan anything anymore, can you?" That strange feeling in the pit of your stomach when someone ackowledges something painful you haven't yet noticed agitated wildly deep down inside. Lizard was right. I really can't plan much of anything now. We never know if he will feel like doing what we plan when the time actually arrives.

I needed to turn my attitude around. I plan a trip to the temple once a month and once a week when I'm able. I plan to go to work for a few hours each week. I plan to go to church each Sunday. Planning these routine outings can be fraught with seemingly unbearable stress. Yet, I usually find a way to make the most important things happen.

The instant I realized how miserable Lizard would be if I dragged him to the Four Corners area or if I left him alone for an entire day or more, I suddenly didn't even want to go southwest anymore. I could be totally content shooting the air show right by Lizard's side.

So, I didn't take the Big Gun. I wouldn't need it, I thought. I could get by with my little point-and-shoot, and I could practice shooting video of very fast-moving objects. I forgot my tripod connector, so I was forced to hand-hold my camera while shooting the Blue Angels. But, hand-holding was incredibly good practice for me.

Back in the days of VHS, when my kids were still small, I sent my dad a video of an air show in Greeley. My dad's reaction made my day. He said I was very good with a movie camera. He'd spent a portion of his electrical career with a television station, and his compliment bowled me over for years.

Now I'm beyond rusty. Plus, the VHS cameras of the '90s were about five times the weight of today's little point-and-shoots. Boy, my little camera now feels (and vividly displays) every breath I take, every itch I feel, every nervous twitch I hadn't realize I was making.

I got in LOTS of practice shooting the Blue Angels practice and the actual performances. Hopefully, I'm getting a little steadier as I go. I know I need to keep practicing. It makes me a bit sick to my stomach to watch the videos I shot in Grand Junction. I still need LOTS of improvement.

As it turned out, the eclipse was more visible in Grand Junction than I'd anticipated, and I had a ball shooting it, too, right from Lizard's mom's backyard, prior to the start of that day's air show.

More lessons learned. The little point and shoot couldn't shoot fast enough for such a bright light spectrum, even with the eclipse filter. I'd have brought the Big Gun had I known I would be able to view such a great eclipse from so far away from annularity.

Even though my photos show none of the sun's gorgeous detail, I can play with the images in Photoshop, and I might even come up with something fun.

In the end, I got to enjoy five glorious days off with my sweet husband, I didn't have to drive hundreds of miles (except to Grand Junction and back), I didn't have to put up with traffic or crowds, and I got a lot of quilt hand-sewing and snowflake crocheting done in the evenings. Not a bad way to spend a vacation!

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Mole Goal

Most of my non-working, non-sleeping hours last week were spent trying to finish up this year's PDF snowflake booklet to benefit the Colorado-Wyoming Chapter of the National Multiple Sclerosis Society.

But not Tuesday.

On Tuesday, my beloved Lizard took the day off to take me for my annual mammogram, as well as a bone density screening and a mole screening.

When all was said and done, we still had three hours of daylight, so we took a little ride up Waterton Canyon. Such a thrill, now that The Lizard is working every weekend. We don't get many chances to ride together these days. So even though I'd just had four moles removed, we decided to take full advantage of the time together.

About two hours after we got home, the anesthesia wore off, and I had a three-ibuprofen sledgehammer pounding on my eyebrow. The doctor had told me my arm would feel like road rash. It never hurt, except for during the numbing shot. I wonder if having real road rash just a few inches from where the two moles had been caused the new mole hole to seem like no big deal.

The next morning, my eyebrow was significantly better; felt as if someone had taken a bite out of it. Well, I guess someone did...

That mole had first appeared maybe the day before Thanksgiving. I was so annoyed when I realized it wasn't another zit (which also is annoying, but at least zits go away) because it was on my face. I couldn't stand it!

The blasted thing grew and grew and grew every day. To me, it was uglier and uglier and uglier every single day. It was the first thing I saw when I looked in the mirror, and every morning, it had a degree of redness to it. I assumed I scratched it in the night. Because, by golly, it itched! Sometimes, it even hurt!

I did a bit of research around Christmas and learned people my age aren't supposed to get many new moles, unless they have excessive sun exposure.

Well, during an event like Ride the Rockies, I certainly do get excessive sun exposure. But I use sunscreen. Particularly on the arm where two of the other now-removed moles once resided. My family physician had been checking that pair every year because he didn't know at first it was two instead of one, and they were asymmetrical, a naughty no-no. Once he realized they were not quite twins, he continued to check them because of the color of one.

My family physician retired about three years ago. I did my annual exams only at my new gynecologist each year since then. I was dragging my feet picking a new family physician. I never asked the gynecologist to check my moles. So I was about three years overdue.

The new mole didn't get excessive sun exposure. My sunglasses, which I wear whenever I go outside in daylight, completely covered that area of my face. When riding, my helmet provided even more sun protection.

I didn't like this new mole. Not one bit.

I began the search for a new family physician in earnest, then noticed in the beginning of January that the new mole on my eyebrow was hard and scaly. And still growing astronomically. (To me.) In just six weeks, it had grown larger than the soft, non-troubling mole at the top of my nose that has never given me any grief since it first appeared in my teens. Back before I wore sunglasses. Back when it was okay to get new moles, as long as you kept an eye on them.

My new mole had become scary. Terrifying, actually. I knew this was not the appropriate behavior for a safe mole.

I made an appointment for the same day as my mammogram and bone density test because I'd already been able to take that day off.

The bone density test and mammogram procedures went without a hitch. I'm still awaiting results (perhaps today!), but I don't expect any complications this year.

My new family physician asked the story of my newest mole three times. She suggested we just go ahead and take any moles that concerned me, which I found so refreshing! I love this new attitude toward moles! Just take them. No sense in worrying about them. Those suckers on my arm would be history! No more worrying!

My new doctor asked if I'd be okay with a scar above my eyebrow. I told her I don't even wear makeup; the scar would be preferable to what seemed to me the blimp-sized aberration this mole had become.

"Are you sure you're going to be okay with a scar? I'm concerned about this mole, and I don't want to waste any more time trying to get you in to see a dermatologist, who might be able to leave you with less of a scar."

Her statement got under my skin just a bit; I'd already been worried. That's why I made the appointment. To have a doctor concerned about this mole, too, was a bit unnerving. Oh, well, it would be gone in a few minutes, and that would be the end of that. Three stitches later, we were on our way!

As we rode our bikes, I felt a million pounds lighter. I have been trying to lose weight, and I've actually had a bit of success. But the weight off my shoulders, or more specifically, my arm and my eyebrow, was palpable. I felt so free and so liberated!

I racked up 20 Charity Miles in Waterton, and I felt as if I was on top of the world.

Two days later, I got my first results.

That eyebrow mole was indeed basal cell carcinoma.

Last week's moles were the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth I've had removed over the years. The eyebrow mole was the first bad boy I've ever had. All of the rest were just moles.

I am so relieved and so thankful I was able to get rid of this nasty bump. And I guess now I'm glad it was on my face. Would I have noticed it if it was anywhere else? Would I have paid attention?

I don't know.

I have strict instructions now to pay close attention to all my moles, and I am to report any new moles as quickly as I can.

I can live with that.

Literally! I. Can. Live. !!!

I will live to see another day. I will live to ride again!

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